The Phantom's Phoenix
by AngelxPhoenix
Summary: The Phantom wallows beneath the rubble and ruin from the flames he brought upon all. Vivienne, a former ballerina, seeks shelter in Erik's domain after tragedy strikes her. However, she is an unwelcome guest under the Opera and is about to learn she is not alone. (A/N: I've rewritten the original story and I'm in the process of replacing the chapters.)
1. Chapter 1

**2/25/14 - Big news! I've rewritten the original draft after making a few changes...nothing major, and I didn't mess with the plot or anything, but some things like paragraph structure and phrasing needed a little work. I also extended a few scenes and added a couple new ones to get the most out of the story. I'll be replacing the chapters as I get them typed. Yours truly, A-P. :)**

_Vivienne_

"Don't come back until you've earned enough for a decent meal!"

My uncle's voice chased me out of the house, his angry shouts echoing in my ears, but I didn't leave yet. I waited for my aunt to appear at the door with the bundle I took with me whenever I was forced to go scrounge for money. Inside, I heard more yelling and the sound of a bottle smashing against a wall, and I sighed heavily.

Life wasn't always like this. Uncle used to be a violist in the orchestra at the Opera Garnier, and I myself used to be a ballerina. The fire that destroyed the Opera House two years ago turned our world upside down. Already rather too attached to his liquor and too proud to fall from a musician to a laborer, Uncle started drinking to hide from his woes, and he was no longer the kind, jovial man who had taken me in after my parents died under the Commune. He was bitter, angry, and abusive towards my aunt and me; he never raised a hand to us, but he made my aunt take in laundry for money and hurt her with cruel words, and he made me go out into the streets to earn whatever I could in whatever manner.

My aunt, however, didn't sink so low. She put up with his mistreatment of her, but she would smuggle me out some boy's clothes and Uncle's viola when I left. It was a risk, taking the instrument without his knowledge, but I refused to become a prostitute, and my aunt didn't expect me to. With her help, I was able to disguise myself and play for spare coins. We didn't have to starve, and I didn't have to sell myself.

The front door opened and my aunt appeared. She handed me the clothes and the viola, safe in its case. Back in a happier time, Uncle had taught me to play a little, and those sweet memories came back as I took the case.

"Be very careful, Vivienne," my aunt warned. "You know how angry he would be if something happened to it."

"I know," I replied, growing somber. "It's the only thing he cares about anymore, his viola and drink."

"Oh, my dear, you know that's not true. He loves us and cares for us; now that he can't take care of himself anymore, we need to take care of him."

I sighed, yearning for the days that were lost to us now. I kissed my aunt goodbye, then hurried off. If I was lucky, I could make enough to be back home before dark.

I found somewhere out of sight to change out of my dress, tucking my long auburn hair up under a cap and using long strips of linen to bind down my breasts. When I first started doing this, I had been terrified someone would see through me and my disguise, but I had learned since that people only see what they expect to. If I looked the part, no one would suspect that the small boy was really a young woman.

Appropriately attired, I took the viola and found a corner that was reasonably busy. The secret was getting a place where people were sure to hear me, but where I ran the least risk of being shooed off by a policeman or of being robbed by some ruffian. I tuned the instrument, rosined the bow, set it to the strings and began to play. I was by no means talented, but I had enough skill that every now and then someone would stop and listen, occasionally throwing some coins into the open case at my feet. I always smiled at them, then kept playing; if I encouraged them enough with my smile, they gave me more money. I had learned how to work a crowd long ago in the _corps de ballet_, and my experience served me well as a street musician.

I stood on the corner all day, until the sun began to set and I guessed I had taken enough to pay for our dinner. I put the viola back in case, scooping the money out and storing it in a pouch in my pocket. Then I headed off for home, taking my usual detour past the burnt-out Opera House.

The building looked ghostly in the gloom, a fitting kingdom for the phantom who had been said to live there. I had never given credence to the stories the other ballet girls loved to share like the truffles in the dressing rooms they insisted would ruin their figures, but on the night of the fire I had seen him for myself from my place in the wings. He had snuck onstage to join Christine Daaé in a duet destined to bring the house down—literally. When my former ballet comrade ripped away the mask he wore, the auditorium had filled with screams at the sight of his face, though from my position backstage I never caught a glimpse of it. It must have been terrible by the way everyone shrieked and gasped, yet they soon forgot all about it as the chandelier plunged from the ceiling, the gas lamps that lit it exploded, and the body of the lead tenor Ubaldo Piangi was discovered backstage. When the fire broke out, my only thoughts were of finding my uncle and getting out alive. We joined the stampede for the exits, Uncle still clutching his precious viola, and we stood out on the street and watched our world burn, fearing what the future would hold in store.

_It holds this_, I told myself. _Masquerading every day and practically begging on a street corner._ It could have been much worse for us, but I was still...discontent, perhaps? I understood why Uncle drank, and in a way this walk past the Opera was a similar vice. We both longed for the days that would never come again and railed against our miserable lot.

Well, at least we weren't starving...and at least I wasn't forced to the indignity of selling myself to survive. I had prided myself on being one of the few ballet rats who didn't flirt with the stagehands or fornicate with the subscribers, and it was one of the only things I still had to be proud of. I might have been a lowly dancer reduced to a street performer, but I still had my self-respect.

I sighed and turned away from the Opera House. It was getting darker, and I still had to buy food for the night before going home. I fished the money pouch out of my pocket and began to count my earnings.

"I'll take that, my good son."

I gasped at the sudden, gruff voice and the hand that snatched the money from me. "Give that back!" I demanded.

The man just chuckled, his grimy hands closing over the little pouch. He was taller than me, broader, and much stronger. I couldn't hope to take my money back from him. His eyes darted down to the case in my hand and he asked, "Now, what's in here, boy?" I tried to hold it away from him, but he yanked it out of my grip.

If I went home without that viola, Uncle would turn me out of the house. "Give it back!" I cried. "It's mine! Give it back!" I kicked at him and swung wildly, but one blow from his fist knocked me to the ground and my cap fell off, my long hair tumbling down onto my shoulders.

I heard his surprised exclamation with a thrill of horror. My worst fear, realized. Someone had seen me for the fraud that I was.

"Well, now," he said, his voice amused, "what have we here? A girl?"

I scrambled to my feet, abandoning the viola and the money without hesitation. I tried to run but he chuckled again and seized my arm in a vice-like grip, bending low and breathing into my ear, "What kind of strumpet tries to pass herself off as a boy? There are so many more profitable things you could do with your time, my sweet."

"Let me go!" I screamed. "Please, let me go!"

"How much for a bit of fun, eh? A franc since you're so pretty?"

I spat in his face and he slapped me, dropping the viola and the money and clapping a hand over my mouth. He dragged me over to a shadowy recess at the feet of the Opera House where no one could see us and forced me up against the wall. Keeping his hand over my mouth so I couldn't cry for help, he tore at the waist of my boy's trousers. I fought tooth and nail to get free, but he was so much stronger than I was...with no hope of escape I closed my eyes tightly and tried to take my mind away from this dark street, but the tears still forced themselves from beneath my eyelids. Nineteen years with nothing but my virtue to my name, and now even that would be stolen from me.

There was a terrible pain between my legs, and through it I could feel my attacker inside me. I couldn't breathe, I was so choked by stifled sobs, and on my lips I could taste the salt from my tears and dirt from his hand. I could hear him breathing, grunting, laughing to himself. He thrust more forcefully, and I let out a muffled cry. _Please, God, let it be over soon_, I prayed. _I beg You, please let it be over._

Finally, he pulled away from me. My legs buckled beneath me and I fell in a heap to the ground. His words sounded so distant in my ears as he said, "There, now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He spat at me, and I watched him return to the fallen money and Uncle's viola, pick them up, and walk away.

I was shaking so badly I could hardly stand, and the pain was so great I only just managed to get my trousers up again before I collapsed. The shock of it wasn't enough to numb the shame and despair, and all I could think was _What will Uncle say when he finds I lost his viola?_

The sobs burst from me at last. I couldn't go home. I couldn't face my aunt and uncle and tell them what happened. I only wanted to disappear and never be seen again.

I crawled to a gate in the foundations of the Opera and pushed on it, and it swung open with an earsplitting whine. I pulled myself through into the darkness beyond and gave myself over to my tears.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I sat staring at the music before me, but I couldn't bring myself to play. What was the use, I asked myself, when the heart and soul had been stolen away from me, when the music itself no longer held any comfort? She had taken it with her when she left me that night. Had it only been two years? It seemed more like lifetimes, spent in agony that would never end.

I sighed, then swept my hand out and sent the music fluttering to the floor. There was no use in playing, no use in breathing, no use at all. Why I had let myself go on this long was beyond me, telling myself that perhaps the music would save me again like it had in the past. Only now did I see the truth: music couldn't save me this time any more than it could make me beautiful, transforming the face that had driven her away from me. I hung my head wearily. "Christine," I whispered. "Christine..."

I stayed there, her name still frozen on my lips, when a new sound reached me-the electric bell that served as an alarm. That only meant one thing. Someone was in the Opera.

Getting to my feet, I crept through my house and went to the edge of the lake. Cursing softly, I climbed into the boat I had recovered after Christine and her vicomte left and began to row. Since the fire, people had been sneaking into my Opera House, curious and eager to see where the notorious Phantom had made his empire. A few simple tricks were enough to scare most of them away: a disembodied voice in the darkness, a falling backdrop for the ones who made it backstage, and a glimpse of movement in the shadows for those who still weren't convinced they had anything to fear from ghosts. Only a handful had ever penetrated to the lake, forcing the lock on the gate from the Rue Scribe, and I had to be harsh with them. The siren had sung on several occasions, and the Punjab lasso had seen some work. I knew exactly how to deal with this new intruder.

Anger stirred a fire in my veins as I approached the far shore. I only wanted to be left alone, to die at last with all of my broken dreams and let my shattered heart bleed itself dry, and still they wanted to rout me out. Wasn't it enough that I squatted down here in the bowels of the earth with my misery, but that they had to come and torment me further? There was no salvation for me in this eternal darkness, and there would be none for any who dared invade it.

I lit on the bank without a sound and leaped from the boat, readying the lasso in my hands, when I paused in my tracks. A sound assaulted me from the gloom...the helpless weeping of a heart lost to sorrow. A fog obscured my senses, stilling all thought; it could almost have been the weeping of my own soul that I heard, but I could see a figure ahead, facedown on the ground and sobbing as though the world had ended. It was the sound that filled my mind during my waking hours, and even my dreams when I could bear to sleep. Almost against my will, my hands slackened their grip on the rope...

No, no mercy. It was mercy that had let Christine leave me in this hell. I was done with mercy.

I stepped forward and stopped again. In the darkness I saw a long mane of red hair, like a cascade of fire. This intruder was a woman, and she lay at my feet heedless that her end was approaching, defenseless like my other victims, and by her tears she was probably past caring. I had never seen such pain with my own eyes before, but I had felt it and I was only too familiar with its sting.

I lowered the rope again. What was the matter with me? She was an intruder, violating the sanctity of my chosen tomb, and she needed to be taken care of!

She slowly lifted her head to gaze around her, finally sensing my presence, and her eyes fell on me for a moment before she lost consciousness. I stood watching her, indecisive. I should kill her and get it over with right now, but something in the way she cried seemed to bind her to me. I didn't even know her name, but I knew something more significant. She had known suffering like mine; only one who had felt such utter heartbreak could recognize it in another.

_Erik, you're losing your grip_, I told myself, yet I knelt down and scooped her into my arms, carrying her to the boat and taking her back to my house. The lasso I left lying on the bank where I found her.


	2. Chapter 2

**2/25/14 - reposted! A-P**

_Vivienne_

I kept my eyes shut tight long after I felt myself wake up. I didn't want to remember what happened since I left home, and if I didn't open my eyes I could pretend it was just a bad dream. Yet my body hurt too much to convince me of the lie, and I was exhausted after crying so much. I just wanted to sink into this comfortable bed and never get up again—

Wait, bed? What bed?

I opened my eyes, hoping it was a dream after all, but my heart sank as I looked around me. This wasn't home. I had no idea where I was.

I was sitting in a magnificent bed carved to resemble a bird, made up in sheets of red velvet and satin. There were only a few candles lit, not enough to illuminate the rest of the room, and the door leading off was closed. I stared at the candles, their glow kindling a memory. I remembered lying on the ground beneath the Opera and sensing someone watching me. I glanced up to see them, two eyes blazing like flames of Hell in the dark, and the sight had frightened me so much I fainted.

My heart skipped a beat as I began to fit the pieces together, but before I formed the whole picture I heard footsteps. The door opened, and a man entered the room. I gasped when I saw him, tall and imposing, his dark hair slicked back, dressed in a suit the likes of which gentlemen wore to the Opera performances. One side of his face was utter perfection, with strong and masculine features so fine they might have been sculpted; the other side was hidden behind a white mask.

"The Phantom of the Opera!" I said in a whisper of shock.

"Indeed," he replied with a slight sneer, his yellow eyes piercing me in place. "And now that you're awake, you will be so good as to give me one reason why I should let you live for trespassing here."

Even in my terror, I couldn't help but notice the quality of his voice. It wasn't small and timid like mine, but steady and insidious and bewitching, the sound alone wrapping me in smoke and shadow. From the first word, it held me prisoner, and I almost didn't dare move for fear of missing another.

But what kind of madness was this? The Phantom, still in the Opera House and threatening to kill me?

He waited for me to say something, but when it became clear I wasn't about to, he asked, "Why are you here?"

"I—I was hiding," I answered, trembling.

"What exactly were you hiding from to drive you into my theater?"

"A man," I said, forcing the reply past the lump in my throat.

"What man? And why would a woman see fit to dress herself as a boy?"

The tears started again. It was just too much. First that man had—done what he had...the lump in my throat grew bigger and I sobbed aloud. Now here I was, ragged and ruined in the depths of the Opera, and the Opera Ghost was going to kill me! I turned away from him and pressed my hands to my face, my entire body shaking with the force of my crying.

I felt a hand on my arm and drew away as though I had been scalded. I wiped the tears from my eyes and saw him, the Phantom, standing beside the bed with his hand extended to me. I scooted away from him, putting as much distance as I could between us.

"What is your name?" he asked me.

I swallowed hard and said, "Vivienne." Then before I could stop myself, I asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

Was I going to kill her? I hadn't made up my mind. On one hand, what else could I possibly do with her? I couldn't let her leave to tell the rest of Paris that the Phantom was still in the Opera House.

And yet...

I took in her appearance, her red hair in complete disarray, her green eyes swollen with crying, and her odd selection of clothes, dirty from laying on the ground and the trousers badly ripped. A suspicion began to form in my mind. I considered the way she looked, the way she cried, and the way she flinched from my touch as if I had slapped her...or worse. "This man you spoke of," I said, "did he rape you?"

She shuddered at the sound of the word and nodded reluctantly.

No wonder she had been crying like that when I found her. I had known many forms of cruelty at the hands of others, but I had never experienced that particular abuse. She sat in the middle of my bed, her knees drawn up to her chest as if to occupy as little space as possible. I understood the feeling, the yearning to vanish entirely, to believe that if you made yourself small enough, the world would take no notice of you.

_Pity?_ I asked myself. _Pity won't change what happened to her, and it certainly won't do you any good._ It was a feeling I was far from familiar with, and I didn't care for it at all. It kept me hesitant when I was used to swift and decisive action.

All the same, I couldn't stand in her presence and make my choice, not when such a thing as pity filled me at the sight of her. I felt like I was looking at my own broken heart, and that would never do.

I turned and walked away, leaving her alone and trying to make up my mind.

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

He didn't answer my question before he left me, and I honestly didn't know whether I cared. The threat of death was terrifying, but after what I had already been through the idea of it didn't sound so bad. I swiped my hand repeatedly across my mouth, trying to banish the grime left by my assailant's skin, and the ache deep in my body was more like the pain my soul felt at the violence and humiliation of the act. My stomach lurched at the raw memories until I thought I would vomit.

I had to think of something else...anything else...

_The Phantom of the Opera_...I remembered nearly every story the ballet girls told of him. They said he never let those who had seen his face live to tell the tale. He abducted them from the Opera and held them captive for days on end, tormenting them in strange and terrible ways before finally killing them. He was merciless, cruel, the Devil incarnate.

So did that make this place Hell?

I waited and waited to learn what was to become of me. I hadn't seen his face, but I knew he still hid here. Would he kill me to silence me? He certainly didn't reassure me otherwise, so it seemed possible. He wouldn't risk my telling people I had seen him and threatening his hideaway. But if he didn't kill me, he could only keep me here as his prisoner; this prospect terrified me. Trapped here beyond hope of rescue, at the mercy of a man who by his own admission wouldn't turn a hair to harm me? I had already been harmed enough...I couldn't stand to be hurt again.

I wrapped my arms around my legs and hid my face, waiting...waiting...

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

She was exactly where I had left her, alone and scared. I stood watching her in silence before I entered the room, her slight form closed in on itself, like she would crumble to pieces if she didn't try with all her might to hold herself together. I knew what should be done...what ought to be done...

I cleared my throat to announce myself, stepping into the room, and she raised her head to look at me.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "I'm not going to kill you."

_Fool!_ I told myself. _You really have lost your grip!_ I expected to see relief, but I was disappointed. She merely stared at me with an intense expectancy I found unnerving. I cleared my throat again to cover my discomfort, adding, "Instead, you will stay here with me."

Her eyes dimmed and she seemed to shrink with—fear? Despair? Well, why wouldn't she? She was a prisoner, bound to the Devil himself. She _should_ be afraid. Given my reputation and what happened to her outside my Opera House, who knew what horrors she imagined now in store for her. The idea prompted me to reassure her as best I could. "But I promise you, mademoiselle, whatever you have heard of me and whatever else you expect, I mean you no harm whatsoever. I'm only keeping you here because I can't let you go free and spread stories about me."

_And because you were too soft to put her out of her misery,_ I told myself. _Look at her. She doesn't care if you kill her, and to do so would be an act of mercy. It's further mistreatment that scares her!_

I didn't know what else to say and I felt awkward just standing there staring at her. Before I could utter another word, she asked, "What's your name?"

"Beg pardon?" I asked.

"You—you can't just be 'the Phantom,'" she said. "You must have a name, don't you?"

I paused, uncertain, but why shouldn't I tell her? She was going to be here a long time, and if she wanted to make the Phantom seem more human and less of a monstrous jailer, who was I to stop her? "I'm Erik."

She nodded slightly. "I'm Vivienne."

"I know," I replied. "You already told me." And I wondered again if I made the right decision after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**2/27/14 - reposted. How is it looking so far?**

_Vivienne_

The Phantom—that is to say, Erik—motioned me to my feet. I hesitated to obey, and my knees still trembled as I stood and he led me from the room. He walked in front of me, keeping his distance and never so much as looking at me, for which I was grateful. That yellow glare unnerved me.

He showed me to a bedroom, filled with furniture that was outdated by several decades. A mahogany bedstead stood in one corner, a marble-topped chest of drawers in another. An old couch lay along one wall, and there was a door opposite. Nervously, I followed him over the threshold and looked around at the various trappings. To think that all this existed beneath the Garnier, had existed for years, was bewildering. It seemed no different from any other dwelling once you forgot it was several stories underground.

"This will be your room," Erik told me. "Through that door is a bathroom; wash yourself if you choose. There are fresh clothes in the chest of drawers."

"It's a very...nice room," I said feebly. He didn't bother replying. He just turned and left me alone, closing the door behind him.

I crossed the bedroom and went into the adjoining bathroom. Everything was scrupulously clean, as though Erik had been expecting a guest. The mirror hanging above the sink was spotless, the towels in the cupboard were wonderfully soft to the touch, and the porcelain bathtub gleamed in the light.

I turned on the tap, filling the tub with hot water. Along with towels, the cupboard was stocked with soaps and bath oils, and I helped myself to the supply. I took off my old clothes, vowing deliriously I would never wear them again, and sank down into the water. Taking up a scrub brush, I began to bathe in earnest, scrubbing myself pink and then pinker, until my skin was raw and red and I had rid myself of the sensation of that man's hands upon me. I snatched a rag and washed between my legs, desperate to erase every trace of the attack from my body. I ducked my head beneath the water to wash my hair, and only when I was finished did I lean back against the tub and consider what was going on.

I was a prisoner of the Phantom of the Opera. The thought itself was insane, ludicrous. If I hadn't known it to be true beyond question, I would have believed I had gone mad. How could this have happened? It was surreal, yet my surroundings seemed proof enough that I wasn't dreaming. Would I get used to it in time, once my shock and disbelief had passed? Well, I would certainly have time enough. Erik meant to keep me here for the rest of my life, and that much I could count on.

With a sigh of exhaustion, I climbed out of the bath. I wrapped a towel around my head and another around my body, then went into the bedroom for a change of clothes.

The dresser was full of things, from gowns to undergarments and everything in between. I looked through every drawer, amazed and thoughtful, certain now that Erik really had a guest here once. She was a young woman, from the look of things. As I took out a blue dress that seemed far too elegant for me to even think of putting it on, it slowly occurred to me; if this room was furnished for a woman, it must have been Christine Daaé. She used to disappear for days and even weeks at a time...he must have brought her here. All these things had been hers. Was she really a guest, or had she been a prisoner like me?

Regardless, the clothes didn't fit me very well. I had always been the smallest of the _corps de ballet_, shorter, thinner, and more diminutive than the other girls. I was the slip of a girl that looked more child than woman, nothing like the curvy, more voluptuous dancers and certainly nothing like Christine, who was as beautiful as every cherished idea of an angel.

_You're as much of a woman as the rest of them_, a voice in my mind seemed to say, _now that you've served the purpose every woman must serve for a man._

I blushed in embarrassment and shame, then quickly finished dressing my petite—and ravaged—body.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I had given her Christine's room.

What else was I supposed to do with her? She could hardly stay in my bed, and at least in that room I was guaranteed to know where she was at all times.

Christine's room...I still referred to it as such, even when I knew she would never return to it again. There were times I couldn't face going inside, knowing she had once been there, dressing in the mornings and laying her head down to sleep at night. The room would be worse than empty without her, a hollow reminder that she was gone and would never come back. But I would always deceive myself again, believing that she _must_ come back like she did before and that her room had to be ready for her when she arrived. It was a terrible game I played with myself, and now the room was taken by another, a harsh confirmation that the woman who haunted me could never return.

The despair threatened to overwhelm me again, but I held it off. I wasn't alone in my house anymore, and I wouldn't be ever again. It wasn't the most comforting idea in the world, but it was better than nothing.

The girl would need something to eat. She might be my prisoner, but I wasn't going to starve her to death. I went to the kitchen and made up a tray of bread and cheese with a glass of water; not much of a meal, but it would do. I carried it to Christine's room—no, the girl's room, balanced it on one hand, and knocked. A tiny voice inside said, "Come in."

I opened the door, went inside without glancing at her, and set the tray down on the dresser. "Eat if you want," I told her, my tone cold and detached. Well, why try and pretend this was anything other than what it was? I was holding her against her will, so why bother being nice to her?

_Is it too late to strangle her and save the trouble?_ I asked myself for what felt like the hundredth time. Either way, I walked from the room again and shut the door behind me.

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

I didn't expect to have any kind of appetite after what had...happened...but the longer I sat staring at the tray Erik left, the more my stomach contradicted me. Eventually, I fell upon the food like a starving dog, too used to constant hunger to pass up a meal.

After I had eaten, I had more attention to give to the room at large. Yet it wasn't the furnishings that attracted me, it was the doors—the marked lack of them. The only one led straight to the bathroom, and yet I hadn't arrived by it and Erik had just come and gone. How? Through the wall, perhaps? A phantom, indeed!

I didn't spend too much time thinking about it. I was exhausted by the day's trials, and before long I took a night gown out of the dresser, changing out of the blue dress and slowly getting into bed. The mattress itself was very comfortable, with fluffy pillows and warm blankets, and I felt as though I was lying in a cloud. Still, I was far from easy in my mind, and though my body longed to surrender to sleep, slumber evaded me.

Music began to drift through the walls; the sound of an organ reverberated on the air, and the most wonderful, powerful voice soon echoed around me. I recognized that voice, and in fact had never forgotten it...Erik was singing, like on the night of the fire.

That voice was so beautiful and so intoxicating I felt like I was under some sort of enchantment, and with its song in my ears I finally felt myself drift off to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I went straight to the organ once I left the girl's room. Accustomed as I was to being alone, her presence was unsettling, no matter how much I had longed for company other than my own, and for comfort I turned to my music.

My hands moved across the keys without my even having to think about it. The melody that poured forth was an entirely new creation, never coming into existence until that moment, and it was precisely tailored to the moment. I played faster, eager for an escape, and I soon felt as though my identity had merged with the sound, soul and song entwined as one. It was what I had worked so hard to teach Christine: Feel the music inside you, lose yourself within it, and the rest will follow. It stirred something even deeper, goading even more of a release, and I began to sing along with my new melody, hardly aware of what I was singing. The words didn't matter as much as the feeling behind them, after all, and the vocalizes were simply a conduit for pent-up emotion.

Lost again in that other world, time slipped away from me, and I played until it was no longer necessary for my sanity. My hands ceased their movements against the keys and I fell silent, the gale in my spirit reduced again to the most trifling breath of wind. It was a balm, sometimes cold and empty but better than none at all. It was only a feeling, fleeting as a candle in a storm, but it was all I had.

I sat staring into space, a blank calm stealing all thought, until a scream tore through the house and startled me back to alertness. I leaped to my feet as it was followed by another and chased the sound down the hallway into the girl's room. Without pause, I flung open the door and hurried inside.

She was sleeping, but in the grip of some terrible nightmare. She tossed and turned beneath the blankets, her face contorted with fear and her hair clinging to her skin, damp with sweat.

I had experienced too many nightmares of my own to leave her to hers. I went to her bedside and put my hand on her arm, trying to wake her. "Wake up," I said, shaking her gently and then more vigorously. "Wake up, it's only a dream."

Her eyes flew open and fell upon me, and she recoiled wildly, falling straight off the other side of the bed and striking her head against the nightstand. She let out a cry of pain; I heaved a sigh of exasperation. I came around to her and knelt beside her. "Let me see," I ordered.

She tried anxiously to brush it off. "No, I'm fine, it's nothing." She hurried to her feet and winced terribly, wobbling on her legs.

"For God's sake, girl, you've hurt yourself," I said impatiently. "I'm not going to lay a hand on you, I'm just trying to help!"

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

I had dreamed of the man in the street, and woken up to find the Opera Ghost standing over me—from one bad dream to another, it would seem. His eyes blazed in the dark and his mask was illuminated by what little light was in the room, further frightening me. I drew away without thinking and fell. My head hurt badly, but I was still nervous about letting him near me. The memories, lurid in the dream and in my mind, still lingered, and I didn't trust any man to get too close. But my head throbbed nastily and I staggered slightly with the pain, and I gave in to his demand.

"Turn around," he said, and I obeyed. He gently parted my hair and I shivered as I felt his fingers, icy as a winter's night. I felt their chill against the injury and flinched. "You're bleeding a little," he told me. "You should probably stay awake for awhile." He washed away the blood with a damp rag from the bathroom, then added, "I can't let you go back to sleep yet. You might have given yourself a concussion."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" I asked.

"I'll have to sit up with you for a few hours." He stated it as if it was a great inconvenience. "Would you rather stay in here, or come into the sitting room?"

Nightmares or not, I felt uncomfortable with a man in my bedroom, so I said, "I'll go to the sitting room."

He pointed to the chest of drawers and said, "There should be a dressing gown in there. Put it on and follow me."

I did as I was instructed, and he led me from the room. The house was very dark, but Erik didn't seem to need light as he guided me down the hallway. I followed close behind him so as not to lose my way, the pain in my head lessening slightly though still enough to make me cringe. When we reached the sitting room, Erik went to the fireplace and stirred the embers to get a blaze going again.

As light filled the room, I felt an insatiable urge to look around me. This sitting room was a very haven of exotic splendor. A Persian rug lay on the floor beside the hearth, soft and plush beneath my bare feet. An elegant clock stood on a mantelpiece of carved red marble, ticking contentedly and flanked by two heavy gold candelabra. Several bookcases lined one wall, cedar by the scent of them and packed to bursting with what must have been hundreds of well-read books. The walls themselves were painted with a rich, coppery color that reflected the firelight and gave the room a feeling of warm sanctuary. A sofa sat facing the fire, but it didn't look half as used as the armchair beside it. I could smell something in the air, perfume from the fire, perhaps, and it was spicy and soothing.

I instantly felt comfortable here. The room itself seemed so inviting I began to relax in spite of myself. I took a tentative seat on the sofa while Erik went for what I assumed was his usual perch in the chair. He sat like a king on a throne, gazing at me with those leonine eyes.

Those eyes! I had never seen anything like them before! If it wasn't for his presence, I would be perfectly at ease in this beautiful room! Awkwardly, trying not to stare back, I folded my hands in my lap, unfolded them, tapped my foot nervously, then began to pick at my nails. It was an old habit of mine, one my aunt could never break me of no matter how hard she tried.

"Stop that," Erik ordered imperiously, and I immediately pressed my palms to my knees. The silence felt heavy and oppressive, leaving opportunity for dark thoughts and painful remembrances to creep into my mind, and I shrank away from them with an anxious desire to keep them at bay. I had to break the silence somehow, but how did one go about making conversation with one's captor? "Have you been here long?" I asked self-consciously.

"Years," he replied, then he fell silent again.

I swallowed, then asked, "Do you...enjoy it?"

"It suits me."

The ticking of the clock sounded like gunfire in the stillness. I began to fidget again, then, unable to restrain myself, "How did you come to live here?"

"I was a contractor when the Garnier was built," he told me. "It occurred to me that I could live peacefully here, so I built my home directly under the Opera itself."

I nodded, accepting the explanation without really taking it in. There were many questions I wanted to ask the famous Phantom, but I had no idea how to do so without being rude. "Um...is there anything you want to know about me?"

He sighed; it seemed to me already that he was full of sighs. He let my question stand, then said, "Just make it easier on me and tell me whatever you want."

"Oh, well...I used to be a dancer here. I was always in the back row during the performances. My aunt and uncle took me in after my parents died, and my uncle was second viola in the Opera orchestra, so he managed to get me a place in the ballet."

"How kind."

I looked askance at him. "I used to hear the other girls tell all sorts of stories about you," I ventured, "but I didn't believe half of them."

"Smart girl," he said, "not believing everything you hear, and yet it always amazed me how the stories the ballet rats invented were so near to the truth."

"So they _were_ true?" I asked.

"To an extent."

"Did you really cause all the accidents around the Opera House?"

"The more significant ones, yes."

"Did you really threaten the managers?"

"When they ignored my demands, yes."

"Did you really capture people and torture them?"

"Only the ones fool enough to seek me out."

The casual manner in which he admitted to all these misdeeds stunned me even more than the admittances themselves. Who could speak of his transgressions as if they meant nothing? What kind of man was I bound to?

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

Damn it, if she would only stop talking! I had a half-formed thought of gagging her to get some peace. A ballet girl...I might have known. I recognized that brand of nosiness and chatter. And now I was stuck with her. Damn!

At first I answered her questions just to keep her quiet, but the more I answered the more she asked. Eventually, she began to verify every story the _corps de ballet_ ever told about me, and I kept my replies terse and cold, hoping to discourage her. Needless to say, it didn't work.

She picked at her nails from time to time, an ugly habit that quickly grated on my nerves. I tapped my foot in annoyance, cursing under my breath. If only I could send her back to her room! But as long as I was uncertain she was too badly injured, I couldn't let her go back to sleep or she might not wake up again.

_Would that really be so terrible?_ I asked myself. I pitied her for what she had gone through, but pity was giving way fast.

"I'll tell you what," I said, cutting into her recital, "would you like to hear some music?"

She seemed thrown off course by the question, but after a moment's pause she nodded.

"Wait here," I said, then I went and fetched my violin from its place near the organ in my bedroom. I returned to the sitting room, resumed my seat, then began to play.

It did the trick. The music kept me from losing my temper with her, and as long as she listened, it kept her at peace.

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

He played so beautifully...I doubted anyone in the world could play so well, let alone the Opera orchestra. All I could do was sit and listen, drinking in the sound. It had the same kind of omnipresence the organ-playing had, but while that had resounded on the air, this seemed to shimmer around me. I remembered hearing stories when I was a little girl about how the Devil enchanted unwary people with his violin, and I quickly decided that Satan himself couldn't have cast a more complete spell than Erik.

I was mesmerized as I watched him. His fingers moved deftly across the strings, every stroke of the bow lithe and graceful, and he played with the quivering vibrato I had never mastered in all my lessons with my uncle. But it was his expression that most intrigued me; it was so serene and otherworldly, and yet as passionate as the fire burning in the grate. I sat enthralled, thinking to myself, _This is without a doubt the strangest, most fascinating man I have ever had the misfortune to meet._

What else could it be but a misfortune? I was afraid of him and the thought of his crimes scared me. He decided to make me his prisoner, and for that I resented him. Yet when I considered the power his voice had held, power further revealed in his music, I felt...compelled by him. It was the dangerous, mysterious power of the Phantom of the Opera, who always had a magnetic hold over the imaginations of those around him. Even the ballerinas who were so terrified of him spoke about him in the same hushed, awed tones people might have used to speak of the Pied Piper. But if he was fascinating as a ghost, he was even more so as a living, breathing man...which in turn also made him more dangerous.

He didn't let up with the music for hours, but I hardly minded the time as long as I could listen. Finally he lowered the bow and said, "I think you would be all right if you went to sleep now. Come with me, I'll take you back to your room."

I followed him mutely, the fey melodies still singing in my ears.


	4. Chapter 4

**3/4/14 - reposted. Don't race ahead, folks! Just try to be patient with me! :)**

_Erik_

I arose the next morning without having slept much. I had completely forgotten there was someone else in my house, so I was startled to hear a gentle but persistent tapping in the walls. I got out of bed, dressed for the day, and followed the sound. As I approached Christine's room, I heard a timid voice say, "Erik? Can you hear me?"

For a wild moment I was certain it was her, certain she had come back to me at last. My heart leaped and I flung open the door and rushed into the room, ready to throw myself at her feet.

I staggered back when I saw the other "her" standing before me, the red-haired, ballet-dancing, cross-dressing, trespassing little chit who was assaulted outside my Opera House. Iron bands wrapped themselves around my chest, squeezing the breath out of me and punishing me for daring to hope for even a second. I scowled at her and asked gruffly, "What do you want?"

She took a step back nervously and said, "I just wanted to know if I could have anything to eat."

I stared at her and replied, "I'll be back with some breakfast." I turned on my heel and shut the door with a snap.

_What business does she have here, anyway?_ I asked myself. _I never wanted her here in the first place, and now I have to wait on her hand and foot._

Nevertheless, I went into the kitchen and began to make some tea and toast. It gave me something to do, at least, with time I would otherwise have spent brooding. As for what business she had here, I grudgingly admitted she didn't want to be here any more than I wanted her. She hadn't made me keep her. I made that choice on my own. But damn it, she shouldn't have come here! She made it necessary for me to hold her to preserve my own safety. She forced me to carve this situation that was undesirable to the both of us.

I gave myself a little shake to throw off the spiral of my thoughts. She was here now whether we liked it or not, she wasn't leaving, and trying to lay blame somewhere would get me nowhere. I set the tea and toast on a tray, added two scones and some butter, and carried the meal to her room.

She was sitting on the edge of the sofa when I went in, as if poised for flight. I set the tray on the dresser and stood there awkwardly. There was no possible reason for me to linger, but after all, what was there to keep me from talking to her? We were going to be each other's only company for a very long time. "How do you feel this morning?" I asked.

"Better," she replied, "but my head still hurts a little." I nodded. "Did you sleep well?"

"I didn't sleep at all," she confessed. "I didn't want to dream."

I knew how that felt. She did indeed look as if the night had gone badly with her, the shadows under her eyes contrasting with an ashy pallor. But I couldn't deny that she was very pretty...Her stature was very petite, with delicate limbs and subtle curves that were mostly hidden by a dress that was too big for her. Her face was thin and pinched as if she had seen hardship, but it was only too easy to imagine she had once smiled easily and often by the gentle curve of her plump lips. Her eyes were clearly the kind that usually glow with contentment, though now their light was somewhat dimmed. She was not at all like Christine, that flower in winter waiting for a spring thaw. She was more like high summer. I could sense a fire burning somewhere in her soul, and I was intrigued by it.

She noticed my scrutiny and blushed scarlet, looking down at her feet. I turned away from her and said, "You should eat. The tea will be getting cold." Crossing the room in three strides, I left her to herself without another word.

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

I was glad when he left the room. His yellow eyes still unsettled me, and the way he stared at me made me nervous. I knew that kind of stare: appraising, absorbing every detail, trying to decide whether the object of assessment was worth further attention. The subscribers always looked at the ballet rats that way. It was like surveying a gallery for a painting to them, meaningless works of art that we were. Which one was the most eye-catching, the most pleasing, the most desirable? It made me uncomfortable then, but now it was nothing short of excruciating now that I knew the wickedness that lay behind the stare.

The aroma of the tea tickled my senses, and I looked at my breakfast. It wasn't much, but it was more than I had been used to of late. I ate slowly, savoring every bite and trying to prolong the meal as long as possible. When the last crumb finally vanished, I looked around the room for the thousandth time, searching for something with which to occupy myself. There wasn't much, just the bathroom, the furniture, a few shelves that held ornaments and baubles, and a bare stretch of wall.

I cocked my head in thought. When the rest of the room was so beautifully furnished, why would Erik leave that blank place?

...Could there be a door there, one that I hadn't noticed and led to the rest of the house? He wasn't a ghost after all, and he couldn't walk through walls. He had to use doors like every other mortal.

Curious, I went to the wall and knocked again. "Erik?" I called. "Are you there?" I knocked a few more times for good measure.

I heard a soft noise on the other side of the wall and stepped back, watching intently. A door swung open in that bare part of the wall, and Erik entered the room. "Yes?" he asked with forced politeness.

No doubt he was getting annoyed with all my knocking, but I didn't spare a thought for that. "I finished with the tray," I told him, concocting and excuse for inconveniencing him, "and I wondered if I might have a book to read? Something to entertain myself with while I'm in here?"

"A book?" he repeated suspiciously.

I nodded. "Any book will do. I just need something to distract myself with. I don't...want to let my thoughts drift, you understand."

He sighed, then slipped from the room again. I waited until he returned, a leather-bound volume in his hands. He gave the book to me and left.

I gave the book a few seconds of my attention before setting it aside and going to the wall. I tapped softly with my fingertips, listening for a difference in sound that would indicate a change in thicknesses. I could barely hear it, a subtle depth that marked a wall and the more compacted noise of a door.

I focused on the wall itself now. With my nose barely an inch from the wallpaper, I examined it minutely, my eyes raking up and down. There had to be some sign here...

Aha! There it was! A hairline crack, running the length of the wall and so perfectly concealed by the stripes of the paper that I never would have found it if I hadn't been looking so hard. I scooted away from the first crack and after several moments found another. There was the door, but how was I supposed to open it?

Erik thought to make me his prisoner, and I resented being shut up in this room like chattel. Now that I knew where the way out was, I would find a way to use it.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I spent the day in fitful composition, alternating between the organ and the violin. There was another purpose to the music this time, as it helped to distract me from the thought of another human in my house. I still didn't know what to make of that girl, and if I played loud enough, I could almost make myself forget she was even there.

But still, it felt so strange...I was so used to being alone that even the thought of having someone else close by made me tap my foot anxiously and my hands twitch with sudden nerves. It was like when Christine stayed with me. I was so eager to please her at all times it put me on edge and drove me half-mad. But it made no sense to feel the same way now. It wasn't a guest in my house, but a prisoner, and there should be no need to impress.

With this thought in mind, I set my hands to the keyboard again only to stop almost instantly and sit back in reflection. Prisoner she might be, but that girl had suffered as I had; her nightmare last night was proof of that. Likely, she would continue to suffer, especially being bound to me. But knowing as I did what it was to endure someone's cruelty, couldn't I show a little empathy?

Empathy? To my own captive?

It was easier to be alone! I never had to concern myself with the welfare of another! Frankly, I hardly concerned myself with my own welfare anymore. For two years I drowned in my misery, and now I had someone else's misery to deal with.

Yet as long as we were here together, we might as well keep each other company. That bedroom wasn't much better than a cage, so surely she would appreciate the chance to escape it for a little while. Besides, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep myself from thinking of her.

I stood and went to her room.

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

I ran my hands all along the wall, knocked here and there, and pressed on every inch of space I knew the door to occupy, and still it refused to open. I was so absorbed I didn't even hear Erik approach on the other side, and his knock startled me so badly I fell backwards and sprawled on the floor in a heap of overlarge skirts.

The door opened and he entered, glancing down at me. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said, scrambling to my feet and tripping again on my hem.

He paused, then offered me his hand. I looked up at him uncertainly before taking it and allowing him to help me stand. "I thought you might like to get out of this room," he said.

_Well, true, but I was working on that myself._ All I did was nod.

"Then come with me," he told me. "I'm working now, but if you keep quiet you can sit and listen."

He didn't leave a lot of room for negotiation, so all I could do was follow. He led me back into the room I first woke up in—his bedroom, I now realized. I halted in the doorway, unwilling to take another step.

"Come on, girl, I haven't got all day," he said, and my gaze snapped to him. He was standing in the middle of the room watching me, pausing when he realized I stopped following him. He came towards me and took my arm to steer me into the room, but I yanked myself free and took a step backwards into the hallway. He paused again, then said in a gentler tone, "I have to get back to my music. Just sit down and be still. I'm not going to hurt you."

_Music?_ I looked past him into the room again. The unusual bed wasn't the only unusual feature after all. There was a large organ along one wall, its pipes extending to the ceiling in a forest of lead. The violin he played for me last night sat atop an enormous pile of sheet music, and more music overflowed around the room, all of it covered in red, handwritten notes. There were no trappings of comfort in this room, just music. It had the most lived-in feel of any room I had ever seen, and I guessed Erik must spend nearly all of his time in here, living and breathing music.

I looked at him once more; he didn't seem to have another thought for me. He went to the organ and said vaguely, with a trace of his earlier imperiousness, "Any noise from you, and you'll go back to your room." He sat before the instrument and I took a hesitant seat of the edge of the bed as he began to play.

It never occurred to me to interrupt him once the music started, and I didn't even move as I watched and listened. I didn't know if he knew what he was playing by heart or if he made it up on the spot; his eyes were closed and his expression was again so serene and so passionate, yet I could see great pain rising to the surface, proof of past and lingering hurt. His shoulders stiffened as he played but his hands flew along the keys with fluid grace, bringing his song to a crescendo that broke upon me and robbed me of my breath.

I felt as though I was in the grip of a spell, even greater than the one he had cast with his violin. There was unbelievable power in the music he called forth now, power to consume, destroy, and heal. Music had surrounded me in the Opera House, but it had never touched me like this. Possessed as I was by it, I could feel it breaking down the fortifications around my soul, the barriers I had erected to ward off despair crumbling to dust and rubble. That despair overwhelmed me now, set free by the music, but the music seemed to ease it as well. How could that be?

Erik finally paused in his playing and I burst out, "That was...astonishing. Did you write that?"

He looked at me sharply, as though I was intruding upon a personal thing. "Yes, I did," he answered. "I compose sometimes."

"I would think you did it more often than 'sometimes,'" I replied, looking around at all the music.

"Would you?" he asked carelessly, then he turned his attention back to the organ.

"I could feel it in my soul," I said. "It was like I was taken by some kind of enchantment...it hurt, but it was a—a soothing sort of ache...I've never felt anything like it. I didn't know music could do that."

He didn't answer at first, and when he did he was curt. "Thank you for the compliment. Now I'll thank you to please be quiet." He played again and I fell silent, too entranced to say another word.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

Playing for an audience was an unusual experience, even if it wasn't a new one. And I had never had such an audience as this. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she hung on every note, her face rapt and intent on the music. She was paralyzed as long as I played, but the moment I stopped she burst forth in admiration. Part of me was annoyed by her attention, but my ego basked in the praise.

Eager for more, I strove to outperform myself, stopping more often than usual and waiting for my critic to bestow her honors. Childish of me, I know, but it amused me. I sought to make her smile, cry, rage, and smile again, taking her through a myriad of emotions with my music and pleased with myself every time I succeeded.

Hours later, much later than I had intended, I took her back to her room and made a note to myself to play for her more often. It was the most fun I had had in years.


	5. Chapter 5

**3/10/14 - updated**

_Vivienne_

My body tensed in terror as I struggled to free myself from the iron grip on my arms. The stench of the man's breath filled my nostrils as he dragged me out of sight and forced me against the wall. I cried, screamed, and fought to get away; he shook me hard, rocking my entire body. I struck out, pushing and hitting and crying for help—

"Wake up! Just wake up, it's only a dream!"

My eyes snapped open at the sound of the voice. The grip on my arms relaxed and the man stopped shaking me. I turned my head and saw two eyes glowing like stars at my bedside. It was Erik.

I trembled as I sat up in bed and brushed my hair away from my face. The nightmare was burned into my mind as if with a hot poker, and I pulled the covers up around me as if to shield myself. Erik was still dressed, so I didn't think he had been asleep yet, but he looked a bit disheveled and I thought I could see a bruise forming on his jaw. I had fought in my dream...I must really have fought Erik as he tried to wake me.

"I didn't mean to hit you," I said.

"You put up quite a fight," he replied, putting a hand to his jaw.

_And it still wasn't enough to save me..._"And...thank you for waking me up again."

He brushed it off. "At least you didn't fall out of bed this time."

We fell silent, not speaking for several minutes. I waited for him to say something else, too unsure to say anything myself. Eventually, he turned to leave, but I burst out, "No, don't go yet! I don't want to be alone!"

He glanced back quizzically and I went quiet again, having taken even myself by surprise but earnest in my wish not to be alone. Awkward and embarrassed, I added, "I don't think I can go back to sleep yet, anyway."

"Understandable," he said. He hovered for a moment, then he sat down on the sofa, watching me. "Do you have nightmares often?"

"Not really," I told him. "It's just since—" I stopped, unable to go on.

He understood without my having to say it. "Something like that would give anyone nightmares," he replied. "As a matter of fact, I speak from experience."

My eyes grew wide. "Do you mean...were you ever...?"

"God, no," he said. "But I know what it's like when reality is as horrific as dreams."

"What do you mean?"

"I've had my share of pain, too," he answered. "I've endured darkness that spills over into my nightmares."

_Endured_...The Opera Ghost, a victim? It seemed a contradiction. "What darkness?" I asked.

He hesitated, then said, "Darkness that stays with you forever and leaves a stain on your soul. It's best not to speak of such things."

I burned to know what he was talking about, but I was wary of pressing him. The silence lengthened and my thoughts drifted back to my nightmare. To stave it off, I asked, "Would you play again?"

"What?"

I moistened my lips and repeated timidly, "Would you play your violin again? It kept away any bad thoughts last night. If you would rather not, then...well, I just wondered..."

I drifted off stupidly, feeling both desperate and afraid. He didn't say anything, but after a moment he stood and left my room. Before I could dwell on my disappointment, however, he returned with the violin in his hands.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

Well, why not? I understood her wish perfectly. Music gave me peace from my demons, and if it did the same for her, it was selfish to refuse her. I tightened the bow strings and began to play a lullaby.

It wasn't too long before she began to relax. She slowly lay back against the pillows, closing her eyes as she listened. I moved from one melody to the next without stopping, trying not to break the spell of the music. I could hear her sigh softly, and I couldn't help but echo it. She fell asleep but I continued to play, hoping the music would stay with her and hold off any more bad dreams.

Somewhere in my mind, I could hear a warning against letting myself grow too fond of this girl, as I sensed I was in danger of doing. I couldn't forget what we were to each other and why she was here in the first place. I pitied her, seeing a shadow of myself in her misery, but that was where it had to end.

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

My first week as Erik's captive passed. We didn't say much to each other and conversation between us was stilted and uncomfortable, but he continued to let me out of my room a little each day. We either stayed in the sitting room in relative silence or I went with him to his bedroom and listened as he worked on his music. For all of the distance between us, he seemed to act more considerate towards me, more sympathetic, and I hardly understood it. After two more nights of waking up screaming, it became routine for him to stay with me in my room, playing his violin until I fell asleep. I was embarrassed that it was necessary, but it was more than I could endure any other way. Erik never said a word on the subject. If it irked him that he had to further cater to the needs of a prisoner who had been a nuisance from the start, he never let on, and for that I was grateful.

He brought me breakfast one morning in the second week of my captivity and said, "I'll be going out for several hours, and you'll be staying in your room. I know how the ballet rats loved to poke their noses where they didn't belong, so consider it a precaution against any foolishness."

"What?" I asked, disbelief rising. "You're just going to leave me locked up alone for hours while you're gone?"

"A precaution," he repeated baldly. "I won't give you the chance to run around and get into trouble."

"But it would be folly to try and escape the cellars alone. I would get lost."

"Exactly, and I have better things to do than search them for escaped prisoners. If I'm not here to keep an eye on you, I'm going to make sure you stay where you won't cause any mischief." With that, he left the room and shut the door behind him, sealing me inside.

I threw myself down on the sofa, fuming. I hadn't felt much like a prisoner the past week, but I was abruptly reminded of my position, evidenced by a locked door. I knew I would never find a way out of the Opera on my own, so escape wasn't on my mind, but everything in my spirit railed against this confinement. There was a way to open that door, and by God I intended to find it!

I waited several more minutes until I could be sure Erik had left the house, then I went to the wall. I had been spending so much time outside the room that there wasn't much opportunity to discover the door's secret, and consequently I had to start from scratch. I ran my fingers along the paper; there were no bumps to indicate a button to press. I searched the walls for a switch; there were no such things to be found. I scourged the room from top to bottom looking for a lever; none presented themselves.

Discouraged but not defeated, I sank onto the sofa again and stared at the floor, trying to form a new idea. I picked my nails and tapped my foot, thinking...

Wait a minute, what was that?

I slid from the sofa and knelt beside the wall, looking at the baseboard. There was a tiny nail there, black as jet and smaller than the nail on my little finger. I glanced at the nails fastening the board in place, and they were all iron, inconspicuous, and driven into the wall. The black one was protruding from the top of the board.

I pressed the nail down with my forefinger—it glided down into the baseboard and the wall opened up soundlessly.

I leaped to my feet, thrilled with my success. I did it! Erik thought he could keep me tucked away, safe and secure. He thought wrong!

Taking a few hesitant steps out into the hallway, I looked left and right for him, listening hard. Silence met my ears, and there was no one in sight. I left my room, moving as quietly as possible into the sitting room. The fire had been banked but there were still a few candles burning, providing a soft illumination. I went to the bookshelves, absorbing the smell of paper and printer's ink that emanated from them and reading the titles. They were mostly sciences, philosophy and history, all subjects far above my head.

I stepped away from the shelves. What I really wanted was some music, but Erik wasn't here to play. Well, no matter. Hadn't Uncle taught me to play the viola? Erik didn't have one of those, but I doubted a violin would be much different. I took a candle from the sitting room and wandered through the house to Erik's bedroom. Careful not to drip wax anywhere, I found the violin sitting beside the organ and took it with me.

Taking a seat on the sofa before the fireplace, I set the candle down, placed the instrument on my shoulder, and set the bow to the strings. It was smaller than I was used to and the sound was higher, but I coped with the difference as best I could. I played "Frère Jacques," my fingers halting and clumsy. It didn't sound pretty, even by my standards, and I played it again until it rang true in my ears.

I kept playing, every song a simple one and each one getting a little easier to negotiate as I adjusted to the instrument. I smiled in appreciation. Uncle's viola had been a lark, but Erik's violin was nothing short of a nightingale.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The angry voice startled me so much I almost dropped the violin. I turned to face the doorway and my eyes met Erik's, the yellow glare burning fiercely.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

Making my first circuit of the theater in a week, I was enraged to find a gaggle of intruders in the foyer. Their conversation wasn't mere gossip or superstition, but had an air of business, so I hid in the shadows and listened. The old managers Richard and Moncharmin were present, along with a contractor, a banker, and the ambassador of the arts. I didn't have to eavesdrop long before I heard all that I needed to. After two years of letting it sit in ruins, they were going to rebuild the Opera Garnier—my empire invaded once more by these fools.

How dare they! How dare they come back here! The Phantom wanted no one in his domain! If they thought to take it from him, they were sadly mistaken!

I sped back through the catacombs in a rage, but paused on the threshold of my house. I could hear music in the air, none too skillful but most assuredly music...where in the hell was it coming from?

I went inside and pursued the noise into the sitting room, then froze in my tracks. The girl was on the sofa, my violin in her hands and playing to herself.

_How did she get out?_

_And what is she doing with my violin?_

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, not troubling to keep the anger out of my voice.

She jumped and looked my way, half guilty and half afraid. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know I shouldn't have touched it without permission—" And she held the violin out to me.

I crossed the room and took it from her. "How did you get out of your room?"

A flush came to her cheeks and she looked away.

"Answer me!" I ordered.

"I found the nail that opened the door," she mumbled. Then she looked back at me, a spark of defiance in her green eyes. "I wouldn't have done it, but you didn't have to lock me up like a bird in a cage! I can't leave this house, Erik, and it's unfair to keep me shut away in a single room!"

Unfair? She had no idea. If she considered one room a prison, she ought to try the indignity of a real cage. "Go back to your room," I told her through gritted teeth.

"What good will it do to send me there?" she asked, a little taunt coloring her tone. "I know how to get out now, so you can't keep me in there anymore."

A growl tore at my throat and I tightened my grip on the violin in my hands, hands that had once longed to hold Christine Daaé. At the moment, how they itched to throttle this insolent little chit! "Go," I repeated, "and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay there. Test my patience, and I won't be responsible for what happens."

She looked ready to argue with me some more, but as I continued to stare at her she finally stood and left the room, brushing by me as quickly as she could.

I tossed the violin down on the sofa and paced in front of the fireplace. She knew how to get out...if she was bright enough to find the way out of her room, she would be looking for a way out of the house next. Damn it! What was I going to do with her now?

Well, she was right about one thing, at least. If she managed to escape the house, she would never be able to find her way out of the catacombs. She would get lost, and she would either starve to death or—my stomach clenched—wander into one of my traps.

This little ballet rat would be my undoing yet. I had to go disable every last trap in the cellars.

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

I sat on my bed and stared at the hidden door. Sent to my room like a disobedient child! The thought made me furious! I wanted to run wild throughout the entire house simply to defy him, but I didn't dare. He looked angry when I left him, very angry, and I supposed he had some reason to be. I didn't ask permission to lay a finger on his violin, and I knew from experience with my uncle that nothing infuriates a musician more than someone interfering with his music.

The thought of Uncle and his viola was like a blunt, crushing force on my heart. Erik didn't like my taking his violin, and for two years I had stolen Uncle's viola and then lost it forever. He and my aunt would never be able to afford to replace it.

Did they wonder what happened to me when I didn't come home that night? What had my uncle done when Aunt told him I had taken the viola? He likely thought I stole it and ran away. They would never guess where I was, and they would never know what really happened.

I felt the sting of tears in the corners of my eyes. I hated feeling so sorry for myself, but my situation was as bleak as ever. Violated and held captive underground, never to see the light of day or to escape my pain and memories. I thought of Erik, and I didn't know what to make of him, his behavior to me was so random and changing. He was cold and reserved, then he did something that struck me as kind and caring. He promised not to lay a hand on me, but mere moments ago he as good as told me he would hurt me if I disturbed him in his anger. And I still hadn't forgotten the way he looked at me that first morning...

If I was honest, I was afraid of him, and if I was _really_ honest, I was entranced by him. He was mysterious and dangerous; there was something strange about him that made me feel strange as well.

The sounds of the violin came to me through the walls, played as I had never heard a violin played before. The music was dark and frenzied, and I could imagine the bow skipping across the strings in a weird staccato that reminded me again of what the Devil's playing might sound like. It was clear from the expression of the sound that Erik was annoyed.

I got the book he had brought me days ago and sat down with it. It was a collection of Shakespeare's tragedies and I hadn't done more than glance through its pages, seeing at once that it was the sort of thing I had no business reading. It was all written for people of a higher caliber, not poor stupid ballerinas. I opened the book to _Romeo and Juliet_ and stared at the words before me. They had played Gounod's work many times at the Opera, and while the music was familiar, the play wasn't meant for me. I closed the book and set it aside with a sigh.

There was a sudden knock and I jumped in surprise before answering, "Come in."

Erik opened the door and came inside, maintaining space between himself and where I sat on the bed. He looked at the book next to me and asked, "Have you been reading?"

It was another unpredictable shift in his mood, as if I had never escaped my room or done anything to make him angry. I shrugged slightly and replied, "I tried, but I can't understand it. I guess I'm just too dim."

"Nonsense," he told me. "Shakespeare wrote for kings and commoners alike. You're just not approaching it properly. It isn't meant to be read, but experienced; you have to let it breathe."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

He took the book from me and riffled through the pages, stopping and beginning to speak.

"O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes in shape no bigger than an agate stone on the forefinger of an alderman, drawn with a team of little atomies athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; her wagon spokes made of long spinner's legs, the cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; her traces, of the smallest spider's web..."

The words came to life as he read them out, his voice wrapping around them and in turn wrapping around me. I could feel that voice in my blood and the words in my spirit, and I understood them at last.

"And in this state she gallops night by night through lovers' brains, and they dream of love; o'er courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies straight; o'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; o'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are...True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but a vain fantasy; which is as thin of substance as the air, and more inconstant than the wind, who woos even now the frozen bosom of the North and, being angered, puffs away from thence, turning his face to the dew-dropping South."

He closed the book and set it down again before looking at me. "That is what I mean," he said. "The words are meant to be spoken, tasted, heard. They can't just sit stale on the page if you want to understand them."

I almost couldn't answer him, I was still so spellbound. I felt as though my breath had been stolen from me, and I was breathing instead the combined power and magic of Shakespeare's immortal words and Erik's unearthly voice. Finally I asked, "Who is Queen Mab?"

"She is the queen of the fairies," Erik told me. "Every night she rides in her chariot and bestows dreams on mortals. They never see her, and they don't always remember the dreams she brings them, but they always carry a bit of her with them in the curves of their smiles, the light in their eyes, and the sound of their laughter. Those who don't know Mab don't understand this power, and to them the dreams are as empty as the heads of those who do the dreaming. The dreamers know better; without the dreams, they might as well wander the earth with their eyes closed. Dreams color the way we see the world, and if there is no magic of dreams, there is no magic in life itself."

I got to my feet, drifting across the room like a ghost to stand before him. He seemed a little surprised by my approach, but he stood gazing down at me in silence. I stared into his eyes, trying to understand this uncanny, fantastic man. How could he burn with rage one minute, then shine with such beautiful fantasy the next?

We stood for what felt like hours before he finally looked away. "I'm going out again," he said. "There's no point in shutting you in anymore, but you're to stay in the sitting room. And don't touch the violin or the organ."

"Where are you going?" I asked.

He didn't reply, but just turned and walked away, vanishing without a trace.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

The catacombs of the Garnier were extensive, and I had traps in every corner of them. I worked the remainder of the day, going from one to the next and disarming every device and snare set in place to keep unwanted visitors at bay. If she ignored my order to stay in the house, I couldn't have her wandering into one of them.

My thoughts were on her as I worked. I no longer thought of her as "the girl" that much, a nameless nobody that had crossed my path. I didn't know what I thought of her as. She was just...her. She had become my primary audience in a matter of days, and I supposed that was what I considered her, someone to show off to and amaze with my talents.

Yet that wasn't entirely the extent of it. After I read to her, she had looked at me so strangely, something about that look catching hold of my imagination. There was a spark in her eyes and a light emanating from her; she had seemed to glow with an inner flame, and it both called to me and unsettled me.

The thought of feeding that flame was suddenly very appealing. The beauty of spirit I sensed in her was struggling for release, and I wanted to set it free. She was as fragile as a newborn bird, but there was a phoenix somewhere within her that must ultimately rise from the ashes. I recognized in her what I had long dreamed of for myself: the chance to recover from injury, to make wrongs right again, and to come back stronger and more radiant than before.

But how?

_How else?_ I asked myself. What other way did I possibly know? She had played my violin—poorly, it was true, but she had an ear and an instinct, and that was all I needed to work with. She had the beginnings of talent, and if I could polish it and make it shine, it could be the doorway to her spirit. It would be my greatest masterpiece to date.

A student to mentor...only as I destroyed the last trap did it occur to me that I needed this as much as I guessed she did. My life was bereft of purpose after Christine left me, and now I had one again.

She was kneeling on the hearth in the sitting room and staring into the fire when I returned to her. She looked up as I entered and her eyes followed me as I picked up the violin that lay abandoned on the sofa. "I'm sorry I took it," she said.

"No matter," I replied. "No harm done." I cradled it in my hands as I sat down, then asked, "Where did you learn to play?"

"My uncle taught me a little on his viola," she said, "but I was never very good."

"Would you like to learn more?"

She shifted uncertainly, but I could tell she was curious. "I think I would," she answered, "but where would I learn?"

"Are you so simple after all?" I inquired. "I'm going to teach you."

She considered my proposal a little longer, then nodded. "All right."

There was another voice in my mind protesting this, reminding me that I was Christine's teacher before and that went badly.

But she wasn't like Christine...she wasn't anything like Christine...


	6. Chapter 6

**4/4/14 - revised**

_Vivienne_

A low moan woke me from a mercifully dreamless sleep. I opened my eyes blearily and peered around my bedroom. There was a dark shape on the sofa—Erik. I could see him stirring and at first wondered whether he was awake or asleep. Then there was another moan and I made out a single word. "Christine..."

His voice sounded scared; was he the one having a nightmare now? I got out of bed, wrapping my dressing gown around me, and went to him. "Erik?" I said softly. "Wake up, Erik, you're dreaming."

"Christine!" It was more urgent now, and in the darkness I could see him stiffen.

"Wake up," I repeated loudly. "It's just a dream." I put my hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Wake up, Erik!"

His yellow eyes flashed open and he seized my wrist as he awoke, half rising from the sofa. I gave a startled gasp. I already knew his hands were cold, but his grip was tight and painful. "You were dreaming!" I said in rushed explanation.

"I couldn't find her," he said breathlessly.

"What?"

He paused, his chest heaving, and he released me. "Nothing," he said. "It was a dream, that's all. Go back to sleep."

"I can't sleep now that I'm awake," I told him.

"Try." He spoke sharply as though I had offended him, but what had I done wrong? Would he rather I had left him alone, prey to whatever dream he was having? It seemed ungrateful after what he had already done to help me cope with my nightmares.

I tightened the belt of my dressing gown uncertainly. "Do you...want to talk about it?" I asked.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out his figure, tensed and on edge. He glared at me and said, "Go back to sleep."

"It might help," I persisted.

He stood and I took a step back as he towered over me. "Let me make this clear, so we can avoid any confusion in the future," he said. "I've been patient with you thus far and treated you much kinder than I might have, but don't forget why you are here. You are not a guest, and I am not your friend. I expect you to remember your place and do as I tell you. Now go back to bed."

I looked at him in confusion. What exactly had I done? "I'm sorry if I upset you," I said, "but I was only trying to help—"

"Well, don't," he snapped.

"But you kept saying 'Christine,'" I insisted. "Did you mean Christine Daaé?"

He grabbed my arm and, ignoring my cry of pain, snarled, "I warned you not to test my patience, girl, and if you ever mention Christine Daaé again—"

"I have a name!" I interrupted. "Stop calling me 'girl' all the time, like I'm a worthless nothing! It makes me feel faceless!"

"Faceless," he said, as if struck by a sudden thought. "Faceless..." He seemed to forget me, going taciturn and pensive, and I struggled in his grip. "Let go, you're hurting me!"

He came out of his trance and released me, turning me to face my bed. "Go back to sleep, Vivienne," he ordered. "Another word from you, and I'll throw you into the lake."

I didn't know if he was bluffing, but I thought it wise not to push him further. My arm was terribly sore as I took off the dressing gown and got back into bed, pulling the blankets up over my head. _Twice in one day_, I thought. _I've made him angry twice in one day. If I get any better at this, I could start keeping a tally. _

I could hear him on the other side of the room, still breathing heavily, and I had a sudden fear. Just how angry had I made him? He was the Phantom, after all, and he always avenged himself upon the Opera House when he was angry. I was alone with him, beyond the call of aid or rescue, and if he chose to overpower me...to stop being kind...

My imagination collided with my memory, conjuring horrible things...violence, shame, and terror in the dark...my heart raced frantically and I trembled in a near panic.

There was the scrape of a bow on strings and the violin began to sing again, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The fear receded and my mind calmed, relaxing again in the presence of music and the man who summoned it. It made little sense, but I trusted him as he played. He gave me relief from my nightmares; he didn't feed them with new horrors.

In no time, I fell back into my peaceful slumber.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I didn't go back to sleep that night. Images flashed before my eyes even as I sat awake. Christine, my Christine, dressed as a bride and still wearing my ring, came to me. For one blissful moment I thought she had changed her mind, that she was going to stay with her Erik...but no. She slipped the ring off her finger and gave it back to me before turning and walking away forever. I wanted so badly to stop her, to chase after her and beg her not to leave me, but I just stood there and watched her go, feeling as though my heart had been ripped out of my chest and cut to pieces before my eyes. A cry of agony burst from me and in that moment I would happily have taken my own life without a second thought. I wanted her but I couldn't have her, and so I just stood there.

It didn't happen that way in my dreams. In dreams I followed her, but she always remained out of sight and reach. I searched for her, calling her name as though my life depended on it, but I never found her.

I was searching for her and calling her again when she—Vivienne—woke me up. I was irritated with her prying into my agonies and grew angry when she spoke Christine's name, but I played my music for her until she fell asleep...as I used to do for Christine.

The thought brought a sour taste to my mouth, and when I was certain my captive was asleep again I went to the sitting room and threw myself into the chair beside the fire. I drew from my pocket the ring she had returned to me and stared at it. I always carried it with me, not to remind me of her but because I just couldn't seem to let it go. It was the same with all of my memories of her, all my dreams: I couldn't let them go.

Or was it that they wouldn't let me go?

I pocketed the ring with a sigh, and my thoughts eventually drifted to the sleeping girl in the next room. _Vivienne._ There was fire even in the name. I repeated it softly to myself, feeling it flow from my lips. There was a certain mystique in its sound, something alluring and tempting. It was the name of a siren, not a scared and broken ballet rat. I weighed it with Christine's name, the name of a saint. It was the road to salvation, something mere mortals could only gaze upon but never touch. Yet Christine had been anything but my salvation. As a matter of fact, I could safely say she was more like damnation.

Names meant nothing. They did nothing but paint pictures and tell lies; I was proof of that myself. I may have been called the Phantom, but I was no ghost, was I? I was a flesh and blood man, with a man's needs and desires and the pain of a tortured spirit. Not one person had understood my pain until Vivienne came along. She knew the realities of suffering and cruelty.

I went back into her room, crept to her bedside, and gazed down at her as she slept. Her face was still and peaceful...no nightmares troubled her now.

I thought back to her words when demanding that I use her name. Faceless...worthless nothing...I understood that only too well. Cursed as I was with my deformity, I meant nothing to anyone. I was just a freak with the face of a monster, worth no more than the fee people would pay to stare at me. Names meant nothing at all, but my name was all I had. It gave me a sense of self and identity. She knew how that felt. She knew, she understood, and that was why she could never leave me.

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

Erik was in a mood the next day. He didn't let me out of his sight, but he barely said a word to me. Maybe it was my imagination, but last night seemed to have altered something in the way we acted with each other. My disturbing his nightmare thrust more distance between us, but his use of my name seemed to bind us together more tightly.

I sat on his bed watching him compose. He seemed lost to himself, idly striking the keys of the organ at random yet still managing to produce a melody. I sighed and twisted my hands in my lap. "Erik?"

"Hm?"

"Did..." I stopped and swallowed nervously. "Did Christine Daaé ever come here?"

He stopped playing. I struck another nerve talking about Christine, but I wanted to know. "Vivienne, what did I tell you about Christine?" he asked wearily.

"I know," I replied, "but...there were stories."

"And let me guess, you didn't believe half of them."

"Well, I'm not sure what to believe. I didn't believe in you until I saw you. And now after hearing all the things people said about Christine and seeing her room here—it was her room, wasn't it?"

"Yes, girl, it was." He turned away from me, staring ahead without seeming to see anything. "She was here," he said. "She came to me like a dream made real, even long after it turned into a nightmare. She used to stay in the very room you now occupy, and sit in your place on the sofa before the fire, even listen while I wrote my music, like you're doing now. She came to me of her own free will. She wanted to see me, and no one had ever wanted to see me."

Why did that voice have to be so irresistible? I was compelled to listen by its beauty, but the sorrow within it at once repelled and lured me. "Tell me about her," I bid.

"I was the one who gave her her voice," he said. "I taught her to sing and gave her the song of Heaven. She believed in angels, you know. She needed one of her own, an Angel of Music. I became that angel. She believed in me, and I...I believed that she loved me, her Erik."

I shifted forward, edging toward him. "What happened?"

He still wouldn't look at me. "We were fools. We lied to ourselves and each other. I was no angel, and she never loved me. When she learned what I was, she left me. She still came to me, but only out of fear. She stole her love away and gave her heart to another. I couldn't understand how I lost her and never realized she was never mine to begin with, so I fought to keep her and became even more of a monster than she knew me to be."

So this was the true story of the Phantom...I wanted to cover my ears at what I was hearing. I didn't want to know anymore. People died, our family lost everything, and I was trapped here forever, and all for madness and unrequited love. It was the kind of tale they wrote operas about, and if I hadn't been so stunned and appalled, I would have laughed. "So the night of the fire," I said, "that was you _fighting to keep her?_"

He finally looked at me. "Why are you asking these questions?" he demanded.

"I want to understand something."

"And what is that?"

I shrugged, not knowing the answer myself.

He stood and walked away from me, and I followed him with my gaze. "You're in pain, Erik," I said. "Even I can see that."

"Can you?" he asked. "If you must understand something, then understand that I've forgotten what it feels like to live without a constant ache in my heart, if indeed I ever knew in the first place. But I don't see how baring my soul to you will make it any better."

His tone was harsh and biting, like a wounded animal caught in a trap but still not resigned to death. I had no idea what to do. I was still adjusting to the reality of the Opera Ghost as a man, let alone one with such a past. He sighed and went on, though I wasn't sure if he was speaking to me, "I don't know if it _can_ get better. I would do anything to make it happen, though. Anything."

The silence that fell made my ears ring. I sat and he stood, each of us mired in our own thoughts. I still tried to make sense of it, a man so desperate to be loved he wrought such disaster and destruction to claim the woman he desired...what kind of man was capable of such insanity? Images filled my mind, my uncle incoherent with drink and shouting for his viola, my aunt up to her elbows in a vat of hot water and lye doing her best to ignore how the soap burned her skin, a man I had never seen before and now couldn't escape spitting in my face while I lay huddled on the ground. And then a crystal chandelier exploding in a ball of flame—

"It's time for your violin lesson."

Erik's sudden announcement startled me out of my reverie, and I watched as he took up the instrument and held it out to me. "Play something for me," he said. "I need to get an idea of how proficient you are."

I took the violin and asked, "What should I play?"

"Anything. Just play your best."

I put the violin under my chin and began to play. Being used to a larger viola, it was awkward dealing with the smaller instrument, but I did as instructed and played my best...which admittedly wasn't very good.

When I finished I lowered the violin and looked expectantly at Erik. He stood with his chin in his hand thoughtfully as he evaluated my performance. "You have a good ear for tone and adjusted well enough to the difference in pitch," he said, "but the flow was poor. You need to build up the dexterity in your fingers. The bow strokes were sloppy as well; you were too fast and couldn't hold the notes, and you dragged across the wrong strings. You seem to have no idea what to do with the highest string. And for a dancer, your posture was dreadful."

I sat bashfully, toying with the frog of the bow in embarrassment. I knew I was a second-rate musician, but no one had ever criticized me so thoroughly. "But?"

"But," he went on, "I can correct all of that with practice. I don't know if you'll ever be fit for an orchestra, but at least you won't sound like fingernails on a blackboard."

I nodded, shooting him a reproachful glare at the insult. "Where do we start?"

"With your posture. Sit up straight, girl, like you have some self-respect. Put your shoulders back. And for God's sake, relax."

I did as he told me, taking a deep breath and rolling my head on my shoulders to stretch my neck. He came forward and guided my hands, adjusting my grip on the neck of the violin. My arm felt cramped, held at such an angle. "I feel like it's too small for me," I complained.

"You'll get used to it," he said dismissively, still adjusting my fingers. "The viola is actually too big for you, so this should be easier to manage. Loosen your hold a bit, you're not strangling chickens. There's no need to squeeze so tightly. Now, about the bow—" he shifted his attention to my other hand, "you're holding it all wrong. I have no idea what your uncle taught you, but—"

"My uncle taught me the best he could," I interrupted, stung. "He couldn't help it if I was a bad student."

"There is no such thing as a bad student," Erik replied. "Bad teachers, on the other hand..." He shook his head in annoyance and said, "Don't hold the bow like you're wielding a sword. Keep it in your fingers, not your fist. Here," he curled my fingers around the bow; while he had a very strong grip, he was surprisingly delicate when handling the precious instrument. When he was satisfied with my hold, he backed away and said, "Now play again."

It was quite a shock. It had always felt awkward when playing Uncle's viola, though I could never put my finger on why. I used the same hold on Erik's violin and it was almost painful, with little darts shooting through my wrists and forearms. Now, though, it felt as though the instrument was cooperating with me.

"You're too stiff," Erik cut in. "Don't sit so rigid, or you'll fatigue faster."

"But you just told me to sit up straight," I argued, leaving off playing to stare in exasperation.

"I also told you to relax. There's a difference between sitting straight and imitating a marble statue."

"Well, then, what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to stop acting like you're afraid of something," he said. "Just breathe and loosen up. Didn't you ballet rats do something to release the tension before a performance?"

"We would stretch," I offered.

"Then by all means," he replied, "stretch."

I set the violin aside and raised my arms over my head, rolling my shoulders and twisting back and forth. I cracked my knuckles and Erik winced, but he didn't reprimand me. Then I picked up the violin and started over.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

My initial hunch was correct. Teaching Vivienne to play the violin was nothing like teaching Christine to sing. Christine had been so eager to please, making progress in leaps and bounds to satisfy her Angel of Music. Vivienne, while eager to learn, seemed against the idea of being taught. She balked like a stubborn mule at my every instruction, though she improved in a trice when she did as I told her. She did a great deal of complaining over my orders, and she did a great deal of rhapsodizing over the smallest achievements. I tried my hardest not to lose patience with her as she chorused, "That's not how my uncle taught me." Stupid man. He might have been second violist, but if this was how he taught his niece to play there was no need to wonder why he wasn't first. If I had ten francs for every bad habit she had that would need correcting, I could have bought myself a new organ.

After several hours of work, I called a halt to the lesson. There was no sense in cramming too much down her throat at once, and I had a splitting headache. "That's enough for the day," I said. "I can't tolerate another minute of this."

She handed back the violin, looking abashed. "Am I that bad?" she asked.

"You leave more than enough room for improvement," I replied bluntly. "The good news is that you'll improve with time and practice, especially once you start listening to what I tell you." I put the violin back in its place and went into the sitting room, hoping for some peace and quiet. I heard her follow along behind me, occasionally tripping over the hem of her skirt.

_I need to get her some clothes that actually fit_, I told myself. That would be another day's project, however. Right now, I just wanted to rest. I sat in front of the fire and closed my eyes.

"Would you read something for me?"

My eyes snapped open. Vivienne stood in front of me, looking shy but hopeful. "What?" I asked.

She twisted her fingers together and repeated, "Would you read something for me? It's just that...you have such a beautiful voice, and..." She continued to fidget, clearly embarrassed.

I sighed, not in the mood for such antics. I knew her well enough to know that, unfortunately, she would persist until I gave in, so I went to the bookshelves and snatched down a random volume. Simple poetry, nothing long-winded, thank God. I went back to my chair, flipping through the pages as I went before settling on one. She sat on the sofa, watching me intently as I read.

"Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth ride

Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

Not so much honoring thee

As giving it a hope, that there

It could not withered be.

But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent it back to me;

Since when it grows and smells, I swear,

Not of itself, but thee."

I closed the book with a snap and she said, "That was lovely."

"It was sentimental," I corrected. "The poet was a satirist; he was demonstrating how ridiculous the love poems of the day were."

"It was still lovely," she insisted. "Thank you for reading it."

"You're welcome," I replied gruffly, adding, "but don't try to make this a routine. I don't generally read this fluff."

"Maybe you should," she said. "Maybe then you wouldn't be so moody all the time."

Her eyes widened in shock as the words flew from her mouth. No doubt she thought I would fly into a rage at her cheek, but it struck me as funny. I laughed, "You've got nerve, Vivienne. Now go to your room and wash for dinner." She scurried off and I followed her with my eyes, still chuckling to myself. Inner fire, indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

**5/2/14 - updated. Yes, it's been awhile. Bear with me, please. And how about a review or two? :)**

_Vivienne_

That night I fell asleep to the sound of Erik's violin, and the music followed me into my dreams. I could hear not only the violin but an entire orchestra, and it was unlike anything that had ever been performed at the Opera Garnier. It was clashing and dissonant, soon joined by a hellish chorus, and then it shifted and became dark and seductive. I could hear that voice echoing in my mind, so utterly consuming I felt as though it was inside me and so raw with passion it enflamed every impure instinct I ever had and made me tremble with longing.

It changed again. It was no longer music I heard, but hundreds of terrified screams. I was aware of a glaring orange light and smoke hanging so thick in the air I could taste it. I had to find my uncle. We had to get out. It grew hotter and hotter and there was a panicked stampede as people tried to escape what was surely the end of the world. "Uncle!" I shouted. Where was he? "Uncle!"

"Vivienne..."

"Uncle!"

"Vivienne, wake up!"

I opened my eyes. Erik stood over me, shaking me awake. His figure at my bedside had become a familiar one over the past nights, but now it filled me with rage. It was his fault...it was all his fault.

"Was it that man again?" he asked gently.

"No," I replied, "it was the fire." Blood pounded in my ears and I found I was panting heavily. "It was the fire _you_ started."

His eyes glowed in the darkness, watching me in silence, and I pressed on recklessly. "You destroyed the Opera House, you destroyed everything! People died that night! You tore my family apart and now I'll never see them again! And for what? Because you couldn't accept that Christine didn't love you?"

"Vivienne, calm down," he said. "You had a bad dream, that's all—"

"That's _all?"_ I cried. "It's a dream I'll never wake up from! You burned our world to the ground! If it wasn't for you, my uncle would never have started drinking! He wouldn't have sent me out into the streets! I would never have met that man and he would never have done what he did to me! I wouldn't be trapped here with a monster for the rest of my life!"

He took a step away, but his voice was hard and dangerous. "Hold your tongue, Vivienne. Don't talk of that which you know nothing of."

"I beg your pardon, but I know enough about it to say what I feel," I retorted, flinging back the covers and getting out of bed. I didn't cut a very intimidating figure, dwarfed as I was by his tall frame, but I held my ground and stood before him defiant and angry. "You wanted what she couldn't give you, so you tried to take it for yourself and you didn't care who you hurt in the process! Every story ever told of the Phantom pales in comparison to the truth! They all said you were sadistic and without a conscience, but no one guessed what you would do for _love!_ How can you even call that love, Erik? It was twisted, a perversion! You know nothing of what love really is!"

A growl of rage tore from him and he grabbed my arms in fists of steel. Had I not been so furious myself, I would have been terrified. I hadn't seen him this angry before.

"I know _nothing?"_ he shouted. "I did everything to win her, and yes, I even did my best to force her to love me, but I let her go for love! I had to stand and watch as she left me alone again, and I did it for her! The monster in me wanted to keep her forever, to imprison her as I imprisoned you, but I loved her too much! And after all this time, she still won't let me be! You think you're haunted by the ghosts of your memories? You know only the terror of what was, you know nothing of the torment of what might have been! Nothing, damn you!"

"Damn me?" I said, laughing humorlessly. "Yes, damn me; damn me to this hell with you!"

He threw me from him and I sprawled on the floor. "And I suppose you think I'm the Devil, do you?" he roared. "You think I'm a monster, yes?"

"It takes a monster to do the things you have!" I yelled back, getting to my feet again. "How could anyone love a monster like you? I hardly blame Christine for running from you!"

"You're right," he snarled, "no one could love a monster like me. I've always had to take what I wanted, and I've gotten so good at it." He came at me with cold fury and for the first time that night, I was afraid. He seized me by the throat and brought his face close to mine, and the mask couldn't hide the fire of his rage. It marred his handsome features and turned his angel voice into the voice of a demon.

"No one could love a monster. Monsters have to steal the love they crave. They take it and claim it in sweet victory. Should I steal yours, Vivienne? Should I take from you what no woman alive would give me of her own free will? Is that monstrous enough for you?"

"No," I whispered, petrified. "Erik, no, please...please let me go..."

"You think you know what's going to happen next? I'll admit, you know more about it than I do, but I think desire ought to atone for inexperience and in this case, I don't mind someone else's hand-me-downs."

I flinched back, the words themselves like the slap before the rest of it. Tears began to fall, helpless, terrified tears. "Stop it," I begged, "please, just let go..."

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"Why? Do you think I'm going to hold you down and force you, after I swore I wouldn't lay hands on you? Do you think I'm just that evil? Do you?"

I couldn't answer him, trembling from head to toe and weeping in desperate fear. I couldn't endure that horror again, not with him or anyone else. But if he chose to make good on his threats, there was nothing I could do to stop him.

He stared down at me in silence, and I dreaded what would happen next, more pain and more nightmares. Finally, he released me. "My sins are not for you to judge," he told me, "and my pain is not for you to mock. No, Vivienne, I won't force you. There are some atrocities even the Devil won't commit. But mark my words: You're as close to Hell as you can get down here, and the sooner you learn that, the better we'll get along. Is that clear?"

I nodded mutely.

"Good. Now get back in bed."

I didn't argue with him, curling up into a ball under the blankets with my back to him, and for the rest of the night we didn't exchange another word.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I sat with her until she fell asleep and stalked into the sitting room the instant she was out. Anger still made my pulse hammer furiously and I paced back and forth, trying to calm myself.

Who did she think she was? Why did she insist on angering me like that? What did she think it would get her? I kicked my chair as I passed it and sent it skidding backward. How dare she!

I went back into her room, not sparing her a glance as I retrieved my violin and went into my own bedroom. I sat and scraped moodily at it, channeling my ugly thoughts into ugly sounds. She had no right to talk about Christine, no right whatsoever. What did she mean by it? The nerve of her! I was fed up with her brashness, and she had been here hardly more than a week!

_How could anyone love a monster like you?_ How, indeed? Christine certainly couldn't. No one ever could. But I wanted to be loved, _needed_ to be loved. The man in me yearned for it more than anything, and the monster would stop at nothing to claim it.

I thought back to the scene in Vivienne's room, watching it from a new perspective. I grabbed her by the throat and threatened her with that fate worse than death, taunting her with what she feared the most. I frightened her, as I had aimed to do. It was so easy to control people when they were afraid; experience taught me that. And Vivienne's experience had taught her to fear men with their desires and violent ways.

I was suddenly disgusted with myself. Just what in the hell was wrong with me? I wouldn't have touched her, but what was I thinking to even go as far as I did? I wanted to hurt her because she had hurt me, and I struck too deeply. It was a miracle she trusted me to the extent she did, given what she had already suffered, and it was doubtless I had just blasted it into oblivion. Could I sink any lower, even in my own estimation? I already knew I was a beast, but I didn't have to act like one.

I set the violin aside and rested my elbows on my knees. I never would have dreamed one little ballet rat would cause so much trouble...I clearly hadn't learned my lesson with Christine. The shred of a conscience I possessed, despite what Vivienne said to the contrary, demanded I try to set things right, if it was even within my power to do so.

I brought her breakfast the next morning while she was still sleeping. I had already been up and about for several hours running several errands and hoping that when the time came, I wouldn't make things worse. All that remained was for her to wake up.

I stood at her bedside, watching her as she slept. She looked so young but somehow ageless, as though time had frozen and left her sleeping for thousands of years, inexplicably vibrant yet utterly peaceful. She sighed and stirred slightly, a lock of auburn hair falling into her face. I reached out with a gentle hand and brushed it back off her forehead, my fingers lingering for a moment. I had never been allowed something like this, to be so close to a woman and to touch her without her flinching away in revulsion. I carefully ran my fingers through her hair, feeling it flow like silken fire against my skin. The scent of her rose up to meet me, delicate and sweet. I caressed the air beside her face, then ever so gently touched her cheek.

She stirred again and I drew my hand away. If she knew I had taken even so small a liberty after last night, she would be furious. I thought of her as she was then, so tiny but so fierce. Even in the midst of my own temper, I had to fight an urge to laugh.

I backed away as her eyes fluttered open. They focused upon me and she frowned, lifting her head from the pillow. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I need to talk to you," I replied, as calmly as I was able.

"I think you said enough last night," she retorted, the bite of her anger not enough to conceal the raw wounds she sustained. She had already been hurt and I had only hurt her more, but she chose to hide it beneath temper.

"I said too much," I said. "You were right to call me a monster, and I never should have behaved the way I did. I shouldn't have scared you like that, Vivienne."

"But you _did_, Erik," she insisted. She sat up, the blankets falling from her shoulders, and she drew them up to cover herself again. I recognized the same defensive manner from our first meeting, when she couldn't stand to be touched. "I thought you understood," she went on. "You heard me scream in the night, you did so much to chase away those terrible dreams, and then you nearly did your part to create new ones. How could you do that?"

I bowed my head, the depth of her injury made clear. She _did_ trust me, and through my actions I had betrayed her._ I really didn't learn my lesson after all, did I? _"I'm sorry, Vivienne. I let my temper get the best of me and was cruel to you. It was inexcusable under any circumstances, but especially considering what you already went through. However angry I was with you, you can't imagine how angry I was with myself after I realized what I had done. Please forgive me."

She didn't reply, refusing to even look at me.

"Vivienne, please," I said, "let's start over? Try not to go at each other's throats so much?"

She snorted in contempt and I winced at my blunder. _Too late for that, Erik... _"Can we at least be polite?" I asked.

She sat quietly and I waited for her answer until at last she said, "Polite works for me. But we're still not friends."

"Of course not," I agreed, "though since we're being polite, would you be so kind as to open those for me? I can't be bothered with it myself, unfortunately." I pointed to the pile of packages on the sofa, all wrapped in brown paper.

"Getting me to do your chores for you hardly seems polite," she grumbled.

"Indulge me."

With a sigh, she climbed out of bed and wrapped her dressing gown around her petite form. I watched her closely as she reached for the first box, her expression still wooden and unyielding. She ripped the paper off the box and opened the lid, and it was transformed; she let out a gasp of surprise and delight, and I considered my efforts rewarded. She lifted out the gown, a mass of dark green silk I was sure would bring out her eyes and the copper in her hair, and exclaimed, "Erik! This is beautiful!"

"So am I to understand that you like it?" I asked, feeling rather smug at her reaction.

"Like it? It's wonderful!" She held it up to her shoulders, running her hands over the material and twitching the skirt to hear it rustle. Then she froze and looked back at me. "Is this a bribe?" she demanded.

I pretended to be insulted. "You think I would try to buy your forgiveness? I'm shocked, mademoiselle, shocked." She continued to stare at me, and I grew serious. "It's a gift, Vivienne. It isn't a ploy to earn your trust or to elicit any favors from you. It's just a gift, and I hope you will accept it as such."

She lowered the dress but didn't say a word, and I added, "It's brand new. Never a hand-me-down."

Tears glistened in her eyes and for a moment she was speechless. Finally, she whispered, "Thank you, Erik."

"It's nothing," I replied. "There's more in the other boxes, and your breakfast is getting cold. I'll leave you to yourself for awhile." She nodded, and I left the room.

She hadn't quite forgiven me, and I knew I would have to work to regain her trust...but at least she was happy. That was an accomplishment, if nothing else. I had so rarely made anyone happy, and it was a feeling I had completely forgotten.

I rather liked the feeling. I would have to make it a point to make her happy again sometime.


	8. Chapter 8

**All right, everyone, if you were holding your breath for an update you can exhale now. This chapter kept fighting me, but I think I got it right in the end. As usual, I do not own Erik; I'm just playing around with his story. Don't worry, though. He doesn't mind.**

_Vivienne_

I fell asleep to the sound of Erik's violin again, and the music followed me into my dreams. I could hear not just Erik's violin, but an entire orchestra. It was unlike anything that had ever been performed at the Opera Garnier, and certainly unlike anything the audience was used to. It was clashing and hellish as the chorus joined in, but then it shifted, becoming dark and seductive. I could hear that voice echoing in my mind, so utterly consuming I felt as though it were inside me, enflaming every impure thought I'd ever had and making me tremble with longing.

It changed again; it was no longer music I heard, but terrified screams. I was aware of a glaring orange light, and smoke so thick in the air I could almost taste it. I had to find my uncle. We had to get out. It was getting hotter and hotter, and there was a panicked stampede as everyone tried to find an escape route. "Uncle!" I shouted. Where was he? "Uncle!"

"Vivienne…"

"Uncle!"

"Vivienne, wake up!"

I opened my eyes. Another dream. Erik's dark figure at my bedside had become a familiar one over the past nights, but now it filled me with rage. It was his fault…it was all his fault.

"Was it that man again?" he asked me gently.

"No," I replied. "It was the fire." Blood pounded in my ears and I found I was panting heavily. "It was the fire _you_ started."

His eyes glowed in the darkness, watching me intently. He didn't say a word, and I pressed on recklessly. "You destroyed the Opera House. People actually died that night! You broke my family and now I'll never see them again! And for what? Because you couldn't accept that Christine didn't love you?"

"Vivienne, calm down," he said. "You just had a bad dream—"

"A bad dream I'll never wake up from!" I cried. "You burned our world to the ground! If it weren't for you, my uncle would never have started drinking! He wouldn't have sent me out into the streets to earn our food! I would never have met that man and he would never have done_ that_ to me! I wouldn't be trapped here with such a monster for the rest of my life!"

He took a step away from me, but his voice was hard and dangerous when he said, "Hold your tongue, Vivienne. Don't talk of that which you know nothing of."

"I beg your pardon, I know enough about it to say what I feel," I retorted, flinging back the covers and getting out of bed. I didn't cut a very intimidating figure, dwarfed as I was by his tall frame, but I drew myself up to my full height and stood before him defiant and angry. "You wanted what she couldn't give you, so you tried to take it for yourself and you didn't care who you hurt in the process! All the stories I ever heard of the Phantom pale in comparison to the truth! They all said you were sadistic and had no conscience, but no one guessed what you would do for _love!_ How can you even call that love, Erik? It was selfish, a perversion! You know nothing of what love really is!"

A growl of rage tore from him and he grabbed hold of my arms in fists of steel. Had I not been so furious myself I would have been terrified. I had become quite talented at invoking his wrath, but I hadn't seen him this angry before.

"I know _nothing?_" he shouted. "I did everything to win her, and yes, I even did my best to force her to love me, but I let her go for love! I had to stand and watch as she left me here alone again, and I did it for her! The monster in me wanted to keep her forever, to imprison her as I imprisoned you, but I loved her too much! And after all this time, she still won't let me be! You think you're haunted by the ghosts of your memories? You know only the terror of what was, you know nothing of the torment of what might have been! Nothing, damn you!"

"Damn me?" I said, laughing humorlessly. "Yes, damn me; damn me to this hell with you!"

He threw me from him and I sprawled on the floor. "And I suppose you think I'm the Devil, do you?" he roared. "You think I'm a monster, yes?"

"It takes a monster to do the things you have," I yelled back, getting to my feet again. "How could anyone love a monster like you? I hardly blame Christine for running from you!"

"You're right," he snarled, "no one could love a monster like me. I've always had to take what I wanted, and I've gotten so good at it." He came at me with cold fury and for the first time that night, I was afraid. He seized me by the throat and brought his face close to mine. The mask couldn't hide the fire of his rage; it marred his handsome features and turned his angel voice into the voice of a demon.

"No one could love a monster. Monsters have to steal the love they crave. Should I steal yours, Vivienne? Should I take from you what no woman alive would ever give me freely? Is that monstrous enough for you?"

"Erik, please," I whispered, petrified. "Please, let me go."

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"Why? Do you think I'll force you, after I swore not to? Do you think I'm just that evil? Do you?"

I couldn't answer him. All I knew was that I couldn't relive that horror again, not with him or with anyone else.

He stared down at me in silence and I waited for him to speak, dreading what would come next. Finally, after what seemed like eons, he released me. "My sins are not for you to judge," he told me, "and my pain is not for you to mock. No, Vivienne, I'll not force you. I'm not that much of a devil. But mark my words, I'm as far from an angel as man can get, and the sooner you learn that, the better we'll get along. Is that clear?"

I nodded mutely.

He gave a strange, half-mocking smile. "Now get back to bed."

I didn't argue with him and for the rest of the night, we didn't exchange another word. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

As was my custom, I sat with her until she fell asleep, and I again left her room the moment I was certain she was out. I stalked into the sitting room and paced furiously, trying to calm myself.

Who did she think she was? Why did she insist on angering me like that? What did she think it would get her? I aimed a kick at the leg of my chair and sent it skidding backward a solid foot. How dare she!

I went back into her room, not sparing her a glance as I retrieved my violin and went into my own bedroom. I sat and scraped moodily at it, thinking hard about our…dispute. She'd had no right to talk about Christine, no right whatsoever. What did she mean by it? The nerve of her! I was fed up with her brashness, and she'd only been here little more than a week!

_How could anyone love a monster like you?_ How, indeed? Christine certainly couldn't. No one ever could. But I needed to be loved, wanted to be loved. The man in me yearned for it more than anything, and the monster would stop at nothing to claim it. I thought back to the scene in Vivienne's room. I had grabbed her by the throat and threatened her with that fate worse than death. I had frightened her, as I'd aimed to do. It was so easy to control people when they were afraid; experience had taught me that. And Vivienne's own experience had taught her to fear men with their desires and violent ways.

I was suddenly disgusted with myself. I wouldn't have laid a hand on her, but she'd been so terrified that I would. I could see it in her eyes. What was wrong with me? I didn't have to act like a beast to prove myself as one. She trusted me to an extent, and what had I done?

I set the violin aside and rested my elbows on my knees. I never would have dreamed one little ballet rat would be so much trouble…I clearly hadn't learned my lesson with Christine. The shred of a conscience I still possessed, despite what Vivienne had said, demanded that I do something to make up for my behavior.

_But I'm still annoyed with her,_ I told myself firmly. I nodded to myself to affirm it, then took up my violin again. It wouldn't do to be getting too fond of her, after all.

I brought her breakfast the next morning when she was still sleeping. I had already been up and about for several hours, and already run several errands. All that remained was to wait for her to wake up.

I stood at her bedside, watching her as she slept. She looked so young but somehow ageless, as though time had frozen and she had been sleeping for thousands of years, inexplicably vibrant yet utterly peaceful. She sighed and stirred slightly, a lock of auburn hair falling into her face. I reached out with a gentle hand and carefully brushed it back off her forehead, my fingers lingering for a moment. I had never been allowed something like this, to be so close to a woman and touch her without her flinching away in horror. I carefully ran my fingers through her hair, feeling it flow like silken fire against my skin. The scent of her rose up to meet my nostrils, delicate and sweet.

She stirred again, and I drew my hand away. She was sleeping, and if she knew I'd taken even such a small liberty after last night, she would be furious. I thought of her as she'd been then, so tiny but so fierce. Even in the midst of my own temper, I'd had to fight an urge to laugh.

I backed away as her eyes fluttered open. She caught sight of me and lifted her head from the pillow, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Erik?" she said. "What are you doing?"

I bowed my head a bit and told her, "I apologize for last night. I let my temper get the best of me, and I scared you. For that, I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

She sat up, the blankets falling from her shoulders and settling on her lap. She absently drew them up again to cover herself. How did a girl so impeccably modest ever become a ballerina? "It's all right, Erik," she said.

"No, it's not," I insisted. "I was angry at you, but when I was calmer I grew angry with myself. It was inexcusable under any circumstances, but especially considering—"

"It's all right, Erik," she repeated, more firmly. "Really, it is. I understand. And I'm sorry to, for the things I said."

"You didn't say anything that wasn't true," I told her. "Don't trouble yourself with it. But please, do let's try not to go at each other's throats so much. Agreed?"

She nodded. "Agreed."

I gave her a slight smile. "Then we're friends again," I said.

"I thought you said you weren't my friend," she told me.

"I'm not," I replied, "but we can still be polite, correct?"

"I suppose so."

"Well, then." I pointed to the sofa, where a pile of packages wrapped in brown paper sat waiting. "Since we're being polite, I thought you might want to be so kind as to open those for me. I can't be bothered with it myself, unfortunately."

Intrigued and curious, she climbed out of bed and wrapped her dressing gown around her petite form. I watched her closely as she ripped the paper off the first box and opened the lid. Her gasp of surprise and delight was my reward and her mouth fell open as she lifted out the brand new gown. It was a dark green I'd been sure would bring out her eyes and the copper of her hair, made of silk and trimmed with lace ruffles. It was certainly expensive, and I felt rather smug as she fawned over it. "Erik!" she exclaimed. "It must have cost a fortune!"

"Well, it definitely wasn't cheap," I said. "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful!" She held it up to her, running her hands over the material and touching the lace as carefully as though it were glass. She froze unexpectedly and said, "You didn't have to do this."

"I know I didn't. But nothing here fit you, and I can't have you prancing around with your clothes falling off you because they don't fit. I'd never be able to work with such distractions!"

She giggled slightly, then blushed. Only too late did I realize the double meaning in my words, and I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "Well, there's more in the other boxes," I said, "and your breakfast is getting cold. So, I'll—I'll leave you to it."

She nodded and said, "Thank you."

I gave a noncommittal hum in reply and left the room. We still continued our awkward dance, trying to find the proper words to say to each other and struggling to figure out where we stood, but I recalled the look on her face when she saw that dress. At least she was happy. That was an accomplishment, if nothing else. I'd rarely made anyone happy; it was a feeling I'd completely forgotten.

I rather liked the feeling. I'd have to make it a point to make her happy again sometime.

**Thanks for reading! Now if you'd be so kind as to review...**


	9. Chapter 9

**Time for another update! I was up until 3 am last night trying to get it just right, so I hope you like it...though I wonder how well you'll like me once you read it.**

**You'll see in a bit.**

_Vivienne_

I sensed the dynamic of our relationship had changed again. We were growing more accustomed to each other every day, more considerate of each other, and more… I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It was like we understood each other without really knowing what it was we understood.

Despite this, I couldn't hold back the weight of sadness that grew a little heavier with the passing days. I didn't know whether it was the effect of being underground all the time, or whether Erik's typically gloomy mood was getting to me, or whether I was merely homesick, but I caught myself sighing more and more, wishing and yearning for I didn't know what. Everything that had happened over the past few weeks was still so much to take in, and I wasn't coping with it all too well.

Erik was still more attentive to me since the scene in my bedroom, but we were in such close proximity I couldn't help but notice the glances he gave me, and their quality. It wasn't lecherous or lust-filled in any way, but he just seemed to look at me more often than was necessary. I supposed I _did_ look a little more pleasing to the eye now that my gowns didn't simply hang off my frame, but I was still uncomfortable with Erik's attentions, if I could call them that. It was no longer just because he was a man, I'd come to realize, but because he was Erik—though I hardly understood what that meant.

I waited in the sitting room for him to return for my music lesson one day, kneeling by the fire with my legs curled beneath me and staring at the flames. He never told me where he went, but he always told me how long he expected to be gone, and he'd never come back late yet. He'd been gone for almost his promised hour and was due back at any moment.

His footsteps sounded out in the hallway. He always moved so silently, but the house itself was so quiet I could even hear him breathing. He came into the sitting room, huffing indignantly, and threw himself into his chair without a word to me.

"What is it?" I asked.

He didn't reply, but his eyes flashed in annoyance, the side of his face left visible by the mask set in extreme perturbation.

"What's wrong?" I repeated.

"They're really going to do it," he said to himself.

"Do what?"

He looked up at me as though he'd only just realized I was there. "What are you doing in here?" he asked. "You have a music lesson."

"I can't very well have a lesson with an absent teacher," I replied. "Who are 'they' and what are they going to do?"

"'They' are the honorable managers of the Opera Garnier, Richard and Moncharmin," he told me, his voice laden with scorn, "and they plan to rebuild the wreck they've let sit moldering for the past two years."

My eyes grew wide. "That's wonderful!" I exclaimed.

"No, it damn well isn't," Erik snapped. "What right do they have to come back here after all this time and just pick up the pieces like nothing happened? What right do they have to come back here and intrude in _my _Opera House?"

"Well, strictly speaking, they _are_ the owners," I said. "They have every right to let the building lay in ruins, or to rebuild it, and I'm glad they've decided to restore it."

He looked at me as though I were insane. "Why the devil would you be glad of a thing like that?" he demanded.

"Why are you so opposed to it?" I countered. "I should think one of the contractors of the Opera would be ashamed to see it left in such a state, though frankly I'm surprised one of the contractors of the Opera would do so much to destroy it in the first place—"

"Vivienne, don't start with me," he warned.

"I'm not starting anything. Before you interrupted, I was going to say that everyone you put out of a job that night, to put it mildly, would be able to work again once the Opera House was rebuilt. Most of them have worked here their whole lives, and they know nothing else. Besides, the Palais Garnier is one of the jewels of the city. As a Parisian, I for one am proud the effort will be made to bring it back."

"As long as they leave the Palais Garnier as it is, I'm safe," Erik told me. "Once they begin to rebuild, I'm at risk of discovery. So are you, truth be told."

"Have you ever considered just leaving?" I asked.

"Where would I go, foolish girl?"

I made to respond, but faltered.

He seemed pleased by my silence, smiling smugly and saying, "Time for your lesson, Vivienne. One more word about this, and I'll—"

"You'll throw me in the lake," I finished, getting to my feet. "It seems I've heard this before."

He chuckled, and we left the sitting room.

My lesson went reasonably well, considering Erik was as stern a teacher as he was capable, and I was as obstinate a student as I was eager. I could already detect a difference in my playing, but when I asked Erik his opinion, he would only tell me that I was "tolerable, bordering on not unpleasant."

He sat down to the organ afterwards and I kept my seat on the edge of his bed, staring pensively at the violin I still held in my lap. "I wonder if Uncle could get his position in the orchestra again," I said, half to myself.

Erik turned from the keyboard to fix me with his golden gaze again. "I believe I told you I didn't want to hear another word on the subject?" he told me, but his tone was light and I could tell he was teasing me.

I shrugged, not in the mood to play along. Let him throw me in the lake, if he was serious. "I just can't help but think it would be such a good thing for him," I went on. "He was miserable when he couldn't work or play."

"He sounds like a selfish, unreasonable sort of man to me," Erik said. "No man who truly cares for his family wallows in his own misery and leaves everyone else to provide for the household."

"You know nothing about it!" I exclaimed. "He _did _care! It was just hard for him, to lose his livelihood like that."

"I'm sure it was," Erik replied, "but it was still up to him to care for you and your aunt, and not send you out into the street where anything could happen to you, where something _did_ happen to you."

"Stop it," I said. "Don't talk about my uncle that way, and don't talk about _that _at all."

He shrugged and turned back to the organ. I set the violin aside and went to him, laying my hand on his shoulder. He paused at the contact, alert and intent.

"I have to see them," I said urgently. "I have to know if they're all right."

"I'm not letting you leave here, Vivienne," he told me.

"Then take me," I begged. "Please, Erik, I just have to see them. I won't speak to them or anything, and I won't try to escape from you, I swear. Please."

He sat quietly, keeping his thoughts to himself and stroking the keys absently. I knelt at his feet, looking up at him earnestly and pleading with my eyes. Finally, he said, "Very well, you little minx, I'll take you to see your aunt and uncle. But I won't put up with any games or tricks from you, is that understood?"

I was so relieved he'd agreed that I jumped to my feet and wrung his hand. "Thank you, Erik!" I said. "Thank you!" Before either of us knew what I was doing, I pressed a kiss to the knuckles of his hand. He froze, his eyes wide and startled, and I stepped away from him awkwardly. His skin was so cold, I felt as though my lips had touched ice.

He looked at me in amazement, and I stammered, "I—I'm sorry. I just—I—thank you, Erik. Good—good night."

He gazed after me as I left the room, and I heard him reply, "Good night, Vivienne." 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I sat unmoving long after she left. It was just on the spur of the moment, that was all, but I still felt the skin of my hand tingle where her lips had touched it. A kiss, freely given…it was more than what I'd ever expected from my little prisoner, and as much as I'd ever received from any other woman. Make that one other woman: Christine.

_It doesn't mean anything, _I told myself. _It was a natural gesture, and she was just so excited, that's all. It means nothing, Erik. _

It was still fairly early in the evening, but she'd run to her room to hide, telling me she was going to sleep. Was she hiding from me? I didn't like to think so. I'd grown used to her and accustomed to her company; I didn't want her to hide from me. I didn't know what I wanted, to be honest. I _had _grown fond of her. I lost my temper with her on occasion, but still…

It was too complicated. She was only here in the first place because I forced her to be. Should I even consider her a companion?

I shook my head to clear it and focused on my music. I worked for several hours, late into the night, and ventured into the sitting room after a time. I hadn't been there long before I heard cries from her room again, the first in many nights.

I rose and hurried through the house to her bedside. She thrashed and struggled to wake, her screams growing ever louder. I put my hand out to her. "Vivienne," I said loudly, "wake up." I shook her gently but firmly. "Wake up! Vivienne, wake up!"

She sat bolt upright, eyes wide and gasping for breath. "Erik?" she asked.

"In the flesh," I told her. "It's all right, you're safe. It was just a dream." I reached out hesitantly and brushed her hair out of her face. I should have been in here to play for her, to keep the dreams away. "Was it that man again?"

She nodded and I saw the tears flow from her eyes. She looked so forlorn and afraid, I wrapped my arm around her, hesitating again for a moment. She didn't pull away from me, but leaned against me and laid her head on my shoulder. I put my other arm around her and began to hum softly. I didn't have my violin, and I didn't want to leave her to fetch it. It worked just as well, though. In no time at all, she was asleep again. I guided her back against the pillows and drew the blanket up around her and took up my usual post on the sofa, at her side the instant she needed me.

The next morning I led her out of the cellars and into the world above. It was still very early; I wanted to avoid any attention. We walked, and she led me through first one street and then another to her family's house. I questioned the wisdom of my decision with every step. Not only had I allowed her to talk me out of the safety of the Opera House, but I had no idea what we were walking towards. It wasn't the kind of situation I enjoyed putting myself in, to surrender the reins and just let things take their course.

We stopped outside a tiny little house, an empty little house. There was no sign of life within, and hadn't been for what must have been several weeks. "Are you sure this is the right place?" I asked Vivienne.

"Of course I'm sure," she replied, but I heard the uncertainty in her voice. "I grew up in this house, I ought to know whether it's the right one." She looked in through the windows and tried to open the front door, but it was locked. "I don't understand," she said. "They should be here."

The door of a neighboring house opened and a plump, red-faced woman stepped out. "Madame," Vivienne called, "where are my aunt and uncle?"

The woman squinted her eyes and gazed into the girl's face. "Vivienne?" she asked. "Is that you?"

"Yes. Where are my aunt and uncle?"

"Oh, dear girl, where have you been? We've missed you these past weeks! You just vanished without a trace, and we—"

"Madame," I cut in impatiently, "her aunt and uncle, if you'd be so kind?"

The woman glanced at me suspiciously, then said, "I'm so sorry, my dear, but your uncle passed away only a few days after you left. It was that drink, no doubt, but from what we gathered it broke him when you didn't come home. He was so afraid something terrible had happened to you, and he wasn't in the best health to start with. I'm so sorry."

The blood had drained from Vivienne's face, and her eyes were wide with shock. "What about my aunt?" she asked.

"She left. We have no idea where she went, but she stayed just long enough to see that your poor uncle was buried, then she was gone."

Vivienne nodded mutely, then turned away. I followed her without a sound, watching her closely. I couldn't tell what she was thinking, her expression was so blank and numb. I was sure that once the news had time to sink in, things would be much different.

"I'm sorry," I told her.

She didn't say a word, and our journey back to the Opera House was made in silence. 

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

I kept replaying that day in my head when I last saw my family. My uncle shouting at me, and my aunt handing me his prized viola…it just kept coming back to me, no matter how hard I tried to push it all back. They had loved me, and maybe if I hadn't gone past the Opera House, if I had just gone straight home that night, my uncle would still be alive.

I added the knowledge to the list of sorrows in my mind. I had Erik's sympathy, but I didn't want it. I just wanted things to be the way they were again, and there was no way to change what had happened. My uncle was dead, my aunt was gone, and I was trapped forever with the memories of my assault and the very real presence of the Opera Ghost. It was too insane! It couldn't be real! These kinds of things didn't happen to girls like me! What had I done wrong to deserve something like this?

I didn't want to be Vivienne anymore. Vivienne was a weak, foolish child whose life had spun so wildly out of control. There had to be a way to take control again…

I went into my bathroom and looked into my mirror. The reflection was the same, but I was looking at it in a whole new light. Vivienne had no say in how her life played out—but she could decide here and now how it would end.

There was a moment of indecision. It was foolish and stupid to think of going through with this, but hadn't I already confirmed that I myself was foolish and stupid? I was just being true to myself, after all. I gave it another thought, then raised my fist and smashed the mirror, holding a towel over the glass to muffle the noise. Jagged shards fell into the sink, and I stood staring at them for a long moment.

I didn't have to do it. I could still change my mind. There was still a chance to walk away. But as I saw broken bits of my own face in the pieces of mirror, I could hear my uncle's viola in my mind, and my aunt's laughter. They were mocking me, goading me to find the courage to do the deed. I hesitated again, but then I felt rough hands against my skin again and heard those words once more: "There, now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

I seized the largest shard and drew the jagged edge across my wrists. The pain was extraordinary, but I gloried in it. Finally, all the hurt was on the outside. My blood flowed freely down my arms. I could bleed away all the pain until it was gone forever.

My head began to spin. I sank to my knees and watched the life seep from my veins. I felt so tired, like I could go to sleep for a hundred years, like a princess in a story. I smiled to myself.

What was that voice, calling for me? Was it my uncle, from beyond the void? It sounded familiar, but it didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered…nothing…nothing…nothing…

**I thought I'd leave it on a nice little cliffhanger. Mwahahahaha! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Have I kept you waiting long enough? Or do you think you can handle a little more suspense? If the former, the wait is over! If the latter, too bad, 'cause here's the next chapter!**

_Erik_

My ears rang with the silence in the house. I looked down at her still form in her bed, her face so pale it made her fiery hair look darker than ever. I myself was still so numb I could barely think.

I had heard it faint as the scurrying of a mouse—a noise like glass shattering. I'd gone to her room and knocked on the door, calling her name and receiving no answer. There was a horrible sense of dread in my mind, though I didn't know why. I finally opened the door and went into the room. The light was on in the bathroom. Not wanting to intrude on her privacy, I called her again, but again there was no answer. I took a few steps forward and saw her. She was lifeless on the floor, lying limp as a rag doll in a pool of blood.

I'd flung myself down on my knees beside her, drawing her to me and noting her slashed wrists with a thrill of horror. I pressed my fingers to her throat, searching for a pulse. It shocked me how ashen she was; even her lips were white. Finally, I found it, the tiny little throb that proved there was still even the faintest spark of life in her.

I hurried to stop the blood that continued to flow from her wrists. How much had she already lost? How long had she been unconscious? Surely not that long. I'd heard that crash; she must have broken the mirror to get something sharp enough to cut herself with.

_That's bad luck, _I found myself thinking wildly, then _But since when do you believe in luck?_

I tore some towels into strips to bind the cuts and tried to revive her. I shook her, splashed her face with cold water, and tapped her cheek urgently. "Vivienne!" I said, my voice rising to a shout. "Vivienne! Wake up!" I slapped her, trying to provoke a response. "Please wake up," I begged, shaking her again. She couldn't do this to me; she couldn't leave me alone. I couldn't be alone again. "Vivienne!"

Her eyes stirred beneath the lids and there was the smallest whisper of breath from her lips. I froze, hardly daring to hope. She sighed and went still again, and I checked to be sure. Yes, she was still alive.

I couldn't just leave her on the floor. Nervously, I unhooked the clasps of her bloodstained gown and slipped her arms out of the sleeves. I dampened another towel and sponged the blood from her skin. It stood out most sharply on her face, drying into a rust-colored crust on her cheek and forehead. It was matted in her hair, but I couldn't do anything about that at the moment.

I gathered her into my arms and lifted her. Her legs slid from the ruined skirt with a soft rustle of silk, and the white of her undergarments was only a shade lighter than she was. I carried her to her bed, tucking her in as carefully as if she were a sleeping infant. If she lived through the night, she might have a chance.

She shifted slightly in discomfort, and I realized she was still wearing her corset. Small wonder she wouldn't settle; it had to come off.

_She'll be livid when she finds out, _I said to myself, a hint of a smile tugging at my mouth. If she woke up to be livid, it would be fine with me, and she was so funny when she was angry. I gently raised her into a sitting position, then began to work at the laces. Damn, foolish, idiotic things. I had no idea how a woman managed to breathe, let alone get herself into one of these death traps to start with. I cursed softly, and she gave a tiny whimper. I paused, waiting for her to do something else, but she was still unconscious. I finally managed to unlace the corset, taking it from her and tossing it aside. Her body felt so soft beneath my fingers as I rested her against the pillows once more, and I couldn't keep myself from raking my eyes up and down along her form, freed from its many layers of clothing. I absorbed every curve, every shape, every detail…she really was a beautiful little creature…

I gave myself a little shake and drew the blankets over her again. _What's wrong with you? _I chided myself. _You don't need to be looking at her like that, especially when she can't even say a word in protest!_ But still, I couldn't resist the temptation to reach out and tenderly stroke her cheek. "Get well," I whispered. "Get strong, and come back to me."

She didn't stir.

I dragged the sofa across the room to the side of the bed and sat down. I would watch over her as she slept, and hopefully try to make sense of what had happened—and what was still happening in my head.

"Why did you do that?" I asked. "Was everything really so bad? You could have talked to me, trusted me. I know I've done some terrible things, and that you must hate me for keeping you here, but I would have understood. Why did you want to leave me?"

Her silence was my inspiration; I began to speak and found that I couldn't stop.

"I've lost count of how many times I've thought of doing what you just tried to do. Knives, poison, bullets, my own lasso…I haven't lacked the means. What I lacked was the nerve to carry it out. Isn't that strange? A man who has taken as many lives as I have, and I've taken quite a few, can't find it in himself to take his own. Is it fear? Am I afraid to learn what waits beyond this life? A black void of silence? Purgatory? Hell? It can't be that I still think there's something here worth living for.

"But that's it, isn't it? I have you. I'm not alone now, after so long…Twisted as it is, you being a captive, I have you to live for and care for. Where would you be if I weren't here?

"Where would _I_ be if _you_ weren't here?"

She sighed and slept on, leaving me to ponder things I didn't want to face.

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

Was this what death felt like? This leaden heaviness? I'd imagined it would be some sort of release; I'd been _praying_ it would be a release from all the pain. Instead, I felt trapped within this…shell? Stone? Was I bound for the tomb, or merely locked inside one?

I could hear a voice outside the shell that was my existence. It was so familiar, so hypnotic, so seductive…It seemed to lure me back to wherever it was I'd come from, what I'd wanted to leave behind. I didn't want to go back, but I didn't want to be parted from that voice. I was sure I knew it from somewhere…

I sighed as it came to me. _Erik._

* * *

><p><em>Erik<br>_

She spoke! She said my name! Did she know I was here, waiting for her to wake up? I stood and went to her, taking her hand in my own. "Vivienne?" I said. "Can you hear me?"

Her hand was cold. Was she dying? I examined the bandages on her wrists; they were too tight. I cautiously loosened them, taking care not to disturb them too much in case she started bleeding again. I continued to cradle her fingers long after I'd finished with the bandages, running my thumb over the knuckles and marveling at how much smaller her hands were in mine. Her skin was soft and smooth, and usually held such heat. Now, however, it was nearly as chilled as mine.

"Fire, remember?" I asked. "Life. Vitality. Not this. Not this, _ma petite." _I raised my other hand to her face again, tracing her pale lips and touching her eyes. They flicked back and forth beneath my fingers, racing under closed lids. Was it another nightmare? I was afraid to leave her, and afraid to wake her. I began to hum again, watching her closely. Eventually, she grew still once more, the slight trace of fear in her expression softening into peace.

I felt so protective of her…If she had a bad dream, I sought to chase it away. If she were unhappy, I did what I could to cheer her. If something threatened her well-being, I removed the threat. I may have done it grudgingly at first, but now…She wasn't just my prisoner anymore; she was more than that.

But how _much_ more?

I thought of how close I came to losing her, and it terrified me. She couldn't leave this place, I wouldn't let her. But she could still leave me—she nearly _did_ leave me. What would I have done if she'd succeeded in killing herself? What would I have done if she'd snuffed out the flame within her forever, and stranded me in the dark once more? Where would that leave me? I didn't want to lose her, not now, not ever. I couldn't lose her. I depended too much on her—

My hand closed even tighter over hers and she winced slightly in her sleep. When had I come to depend on her so much? I barely knew her. She should be nothing to me. I'd sworn to myself long ago that I wouldn't let myself rely on another ever again. So why did the idea of the loss of my companion fill me with such fear? If I'd guarded myself as vigilantly as I should have, it shouldn't affect me so badly. But the truth remained that she had a way of making me feel alive in her presence, not the walking corpse I'd been since Christine left me. The light in her seemed to touch me until I felt as though I too might shine brighter. I actually felt…human, when I was around her.

Too human…Humans could feel hope and joy, and it could also be taken away from them and leave them broken and withered with nothing but shattered memories and impossible dreams. I had learned that lesson with Christine, or at least I thought I had. Now here I was, ready to be schooled again in loss and heartache.

I took my hands away from her and clenched them in my lap. "This can't be happening," I murmured to myself. "Not again. Please, God, not again."

I couldn't let myself do this. I couldn't let myself…

I couldn't even bring myself to say the word "love."

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

Why couldn't I just slip away? I felt as though I was hovering between two planes of being—being alive, with all the suffering it brought, and being…_not_ alive, with whatever came with that. What exactly _did_ come with death? Was there a Paradise beyond earthly existence, as I'd been taught? Was there Perdition? Was there anything at all? And I'd tried to go there, wherever "there" was, of my own volition…wasn't that supposed to be the greatest sin of all? Did that mean I would be sent to Hell? Was there even a Hell to be sent to?

I didn't want to find out. I wanted more than anything to wake up, to return to myself and the rest of the world. I would gladly take whatever it would offer me, but I just couldn't face this. I didn't know what I was most afraid of: the questions in my mind, or what the answers might be.

But damn it, I was so tired! So weak!

Wait a minute…did I just curse? I hadn't picked up that habit until recently, until…what was his name, again?

Ah, yes. Erik.

That was Erik's voice in my ears, wasn't it? Speaking so softly, humming so sweetly. Why was he humming? He usually did something else…Didn't he usually play the violin? Yes, that sounded right. He played for me, to help me sleep with no nightmares. It was so kind of him, and not at all the sort of thing I would have expected from the Opera Ghost. But then, Erik really wasn't anything like the Opera Ghost at all, was he? He was difficult, to be sure, and temperamental, and so _moody_, but he wasn't so bad.

I could have laughed at myself. My thoughts were all aflutter, dancing from one thing to the next. It was the only kind of dancing I'd done in two years…I should dance a little when I woke up. It was disgraceful for a member of the ballet to neglect her art for so long.

But I was a violinist, now. Erik was teaching me. He was a good teacher, despite being so rude about my uncle. What was it Uncle played? That's right, a viola. He was so skilled at it, but not a patch on Erik with his violin. I hoped Uncle was paying more attention to his playing than I was to my dancing.

No, wait…Uncle didn't have a viola anymore. It had been stolen by the man who'd…And even if it hadn't been, Uncle could no longer play it, because he was…

I felt the sorrow at the edge of my thoughts, but I could still hear Erik humming to me. I focused on the sound, shutting out everything else, and it wasn't long until I could feel myself relaxing again. So long as I had that voice to anchor me, I was safe.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I stayed by her side all through the night, not wanting to even blink lest something go wrong in even that split second my eyes were closed. If I slept, I knew I would dream, and the only question was whether Christine would return to haunt me, or if it would be Vivienne I searched for, but never managed to find. There was nothing for me to do but wait, and time seemed to crawl. How long had I been sitting there with her? Hours? Days? Years? All I wanted was for her to wake up, but I had no idea what I would do with myself once she did—_if_ she did. The prospect of her never opening her eyes again was like a waking nightmare, but the notion of her returning to me now that I knew what I knew of my own feelings was…alarming? Disturbing?

Wondrous?

**Ah, so our dear Erik is _aware_ that he's attached to our dear Vivienne... I wonder what happens next? Stay tuned to find out!**

**P.S. I'm officially a Beta! If anyone is looking for someone to read their work, I'm all ears. Or eyes, whatever. :)  
><strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**A big hearty thank you to my loyal readers Alexanne and Reverend Squid. Your appreciation really keeps me going!**

**On an interesting side note, I was listening to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack while putting the finishing touches on the chapter, and I couldn't help but notice the irony in "She's Like the Wind" and "Hungry Eyes." Read on and join me in a chuckle, won't you?**

_Vivienne_

How long did I remain there, in that dark in-between place? I could still hear Erik's voice and it seemed to be coming from a vast distance, as though I were lost on an ocean with only the call of a gull on the shore to guide me safely. Oh, I was so tired…I should just sleep for now. Once I woke—well, I'd figure out what I'd do when I actually awoke.

He spoke to me softly again, saying, "Rest, now, little one. Rest now, my darling."

Ah, see? It was all right to sleep. Erik said it—

Wait…

Darling?

What was that supposed to mean? Did he mean _me?_

_Well, who else could he be talking to, you twit? _part of me realized, but…it just didn't make any sense. Why would he call me that?

_You see, _that part of me went on, _when people start calling each other names like "darling," it means they care. _

_ But Erik doesn't care about me, _I protested. _He's in love with Christine Daaé. He doesn't give a rat's left—_

_ Watch your language. Use your head, girl. You've sensed something changing between you, haven't you?_

_Well, yes, but not like that! I mean, he doesn't even know me that well! And he keeps insisting we're not even friends!_

_Use. Your. Head. Think about why he would act like this. He's been alone down here for goodness knows how long and then here you come. What might he be feeling right now?_

_So he might not _really _care about me?_

_ Perhaps not. Perhaps he really does. Keep an eye on him, see how he behaves…it might surprise you._

I was tired of my internal monologue, and just plain tired. I let myself drift off into sleep, always with that voice echoing so perfectly in my ears. I don't know how long I lay there, but eventually I felt myself wake up—not just come back to my thoughts, but actually awaken.

I opened my eyes. Erik was sitting on the sofa, right beside my bed. He was so still that at first I thought he must be sleeping, but his eyes flashed in my direction and he was instantly alert. He leaned forward and grasped my hand, a rather more intimate gesture than I was familiar with.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

I sighed. "I'm not sure," I told him. "I feel…sluggish, I suppose."

"Well, that's only to be expected after nearly bleeding to death," he retorted, his tone sharp and biting. "How could you do something so stupid? Why would you even think of it?"

If Erik cared for me, this was hardly the behavior that would let me know. I tried to sit up but he pushed me back down, firmly if not roughly. "You're not getting up until I say you are," he told me. "Like I said, you nearly bled to death. And my question again is, why?"

"Why not?" I asked blandly. "What reason do I possibly have to stay here any longer? My uncle is dead, my aunt is gone, I'm a prisoner for the rest of my life…need I go on?"

"That's no excuse for cowardice, and that's all it was."

I looked away from him. "I didn't want to be me anymore," I said. "I'm weak, Erik, I'm not strong like you. I couldn't stand to look at myself in the mirror."

"Vivienne, there's not a single one of us who actually wants to be who we are," he replied dryly. "Do you think if I had the choice I would be who I am?"

"You're a genius," I told him. "There's nothing on the face of the earth that compares to your music."

"A genius who has spent his life sequestered in a basement," he corrected. "We all have our problems, girl, but we can't let them break us."

"You did."

"And yet of the two of us, I'm not the one who slit my own wrists. Now calm down and lie still. You lost a lot of blood, and you shouldn't move too much until you've got your strength back."

I sighed. There was so much I wanted to hear from him, but as the coward he'd named me, I couldn't just ask him outright. I decided to wheedle it out of him, though that method hadn't worked in the past. "I could hear you singing," I said innocently. "To be honest, it's probably what saved me. I can't hear you sing for me when I'm dead."

He gave nothing away. "Then that should be an incentive for you not to try anything like this again, shouldn't it?"

"I suppose. If it had worked, though—what would you have done?"

"I would have had to bury you somewhere. I'm not in the habit of leaving the corpses of ballet rats around my house."

"No, I mean…what would you have done, if I had died? You would have been alone again."

"I'm well aware of that," he replied. "Though since it didn't cross your mind earlier I wonder why it troubles you so much now."

I'd had no idea what to expect, but this was definitely not how I'd imagined this playing out. "It—it doesn't trouble me," I stammered. "I mean, we're not even friends. At least, that's what you said, isn't it?" I shifted slightly and it was only then that I noticed something. Where were my clothes? I was wearing nothing but a chemise, pantaloons and petticoat. "Erik, did you undress me?" I accused.

"Would you rather I left you in the blood-soaked gown I found you in?" he asked. "It's a fine way to show gratitude, I must say. I go to the trouble of getting you nice, new clothes, and you go and try to kill yourself in them."

I slipped a hand under my blanket and put it to my waist. "And you took off my corset!" I exclaimed.

To my intense annoyance, he started chuckling.

"Why are you laughing?" I demanded. "I feel so humiliated!"

"Well, at least you're alive to feel something, my dear," he said lightly. "In my defense, I couldn't in good conscience allow you to sleep in that torture device and you settled beautifully once you were free of it. And no, I have no intension of apologizing for my heinous breach of propriety."

I was just so unsure. After what I'd overheard, I was unsure about everything. Why was he being so nice to me, if he didn't care for me? And if he did, what then? He wasn't about to tell me anything, that much I had figured out. I fell silent, trying to sort through it all.

"Look, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you," he said. "But it was necessary."

"You're not used to apologizing, are you?" I asked.

"Not at all."

Yet he'd done so how many times now? At least twice that I could recall. I felt myself flush as a new thought came to mind. "You didn't—peek, did you?"

"Of course not," he replied readily. "I'm also not in the habit of ogling ballet rats when they're unconscious and at my mercy."

I nodded. At his mercy? I'd been at his mercy since I got here, and in light of what I'd heard earlier, it didn't seem like such a terrible thing anymore.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

At last, she was awake! There was no doubt in my mind that she was going to get better now, even though I'd been so afraid while she slept. And yes, she was irritated with me for taking liberties with her clothing while she slept. I'd told her it was necessary, but I couldn't erase the picture of her from my mind. It was indecent of me, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the sight of my little…whatever she was to me now, laid out before me with only the thinnest layer of silk undergarments hiding her from my gaze. But even as the image continued to dance through my head, an intense battle raged around it.

How could I be certain that I truly had feelings for her? I'd been left alone with only my memories of Christine for so long, and then along came Vivienne, with her tragic story and her fiery soul. Was it just my desire to escape my own pain that drove me, or was it something real? I'd been so desperate to be loved like anyone else, so could I trust this feeling?

Even if I could, I couldn't be certain of her. How could she do anything but hate me for what I was doing to her? She was here because of me, and if she'd been pushed to try to commit suicide, then I had my share of responsibility. I knew what she thought of me, she'd told me so herself. I was a monster who knew nothing of what love really was. She could never do more than hate me.

Why did this always have to be so complicated?

I checked the bandages on her wrists, feeling her eyes on me all the while. What could she possibly be thinking right now? I couldn't tell, and she wasn't talking, but I yearned to know even as I feared the knowledge.

"It's likely you'll have scars," I told her, replacing the bandages. The wounds were long and vicious, scabbed over into a brutal mess that would take some time to heal. She would bear the marks to her dying day. "Are you satisfied?" I asked. "You'll have to live with this constant reminder of all you've suffered, all the pain you've ever felt. Is that what you wanted?"

"No," she replied. "But…I think it's a blessing, to be reminded sometimes, isn't it?"

"How can that be a blessing?"

"You can see how far you've come through that pain," she said. "It could be a reminder of the pain itself, but it can also prove you've overcome it, don't you think? That you've risen above it?"

I looked at her, still so pale but with her eyes shining brightly with that light I'd seen before and thought I might never see again. "Like a phoenix," I murmured, more to myself than her. How could she have known? "Death, then rebirth."

"But not literal death, obviously," she added.

"No, of course not." I sat staring at her another long minute, then got to my feet. "I'll be back with supper," I told her. "Stay in bed, and don't do anything foolish."

"Yes, sir," she replied.

I smiled at her and excused myself. As I walked to the kitchen, I continued to think. Overcoming pain, rising above suffering, death and rebirth…Were these the answers I'd been waiting on for two years? I had long dreamed of it, but had no idea how to make it my reality. Is that what it meant? My soul had died when Christine left, and Vivienne had begun to stoke the flames that could bring it back to life. I wanted to believe it so badly, but what if I was only seeing what I wanted to again? The half of my heart that rested in the fire again said it wouldn't always be like it was with Christine, but the other half, the part that was still cold and buried, couldn't relinquish all the fear and doubt. If I let myself believe again, I couldn't survive it if my dreams betrayed me once more.

But what if I held out, only to let every last dream I'd ever cherished slip through my fingers? How could I possibly survive _that?_

I sighed, then set about making some soup. I could think about it later, but for now there was a young woman in the next room who needed me. I would have to save dwelling on how much I needed her for another time.

She was still lying down when I returned to her, and she asked mildly, "Am I allowed up to eat?"

"I suppose you are," I told her, setting the tray I carried down on the sofa. "Do you think you can sit up?"

She tried to raise herself on her arms but fell back on her pillows after a few attempts.

"Do you need me to help you?" I asked, slightly amused in spite of myself.

"No," she said, trying and failing again. Ah, that streak of pride I'd caught only rare glimpses of. I delighted in it!

"We could sit here all night, or you can let me help," I offered. "It's up to you."

"Erik, I'm not dressed!" she said, scandalized. "It's not proper!"

"To hell with 'proper,'" I told her. "I've never exactly fit the bill for 'proper,' anyway. If you can stand to be immodest for a moment, you can always put a shawl on while you're up."

"You can't just—leave?" she asked timidly.

"No I can't. I'm not leaving you for longer than I have to. Do you trust me, Vivienne?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me now. We're not doing anything wrong here. It's all right."

She hesitated, then nodded. I went to her, gently pulling the blanket back. She wrapped her thin arms around my neck and I put my hands on her waist, carefully lifting her into a sitting position. For one brief instant, her soft form pressed into me, and I imagined I could feel her heart beating. The heat had returned to her body, warming me as I held her close to me. Her breathing was light as a whisper against my bare cheek, and I unconsciously tightened my hold on her. I'd never been in such an intimate embrace, and my mind blurred with it.

I released her quickly and handed her the shawl that waited beside the bed. She flung it hastily around her shoulders and I set the tray on her lap. "I trust you can feed yourself?" I asked.

"I think I can at least manage that," she answered. She bit her lip shyly, then added, "Thank you, Erik."

I hummed an absent acknowledgement, then resumed my seat on the sofa. She ate quietly, but I paid her little attention. I'd successfully driven out every thought of her half-naked self before my eyes—with thoughts of her half-naked self in my arms. What was wrong with me? If she knew what was going through my mind, she'd never trust me again! Was I just that desperate, or did I really care for her?

"When can we continue my violin lessons, _maestro?_" she asked.

I snapped out of my trance and looked at her. She was staring at me with that light in her eyes again. Something in me burned to see it, but I merely replied, "As soon as your wrists have healed. For such an eager student, Vivienne, you were terribly quick to maim yourself like that."

She hung her head, ashamed. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "I just wanted it to stop."

"I know," I told her. "Believe me, I do. And I don't mean to judge you, it's just—you scared me so much."

"Why?"

Should I tell her? I was caught on my indecision for several moments, then said, "Someone with such beautiful fire in her spirit shouldn't be in such a hurry to let it burn out."

She continued to watch me, and was it just me, or were there questions hanging on the air between us? There were words to describe what was going on, but I was still wary of using them. Until I'd made sense of my own feelings, I couldn't burden her with them, but I still ached to know what was on her mind. I wasn't alone in my house, but was I alone in my emotions?

If only I had the courage to ask!

**So much turmoil! But hey, who said it was going to be easy? They've got some baggage to deal with first.**

**More on the way soon! Expect it when you see it!**


	12. Chapter 12

**No pretty intros for this one, just a quick nod to all my readers and reviewers (I still can't believe I actually have those!). Enjoy!**

_Vivienne_

I stayed in bed for the next few days—Erik made me. I would have gone insane with boredom after mere hours, but he kept me company, hardly leaving my bedside. He played his violin for me, sang once or twice, and at my request he even read more of that poetry he thought ridiculous. I grew more familiar with Shakespeare than I ever expected I would, and when he compared me to Kate in _The Taming of the Shrew _I had to laugh for what felt like the first time in a long time.

I kept a close, if covert, eye on him the whole time, watching him for any signs of admiration. If I expected to see any, he thwarted me at every turning. He hid more than his face behind that mask. There were moments when I was certain he was watching me intently, but he always turned away when I tried to catch him at it. I even pretended to sleep on a few occasions, hoping to hear him speak when he thought I wasn't listening, but he seemed to see through my ruse and I got no bedside confessions.

To be honest, I didn't know if I wanted him to care for me or not. It might make my lot easier as a captive, but I still recalled in vivid detail what happened the last time Erik cared for someone. Did I care for him? Well, when he wasn't being temperamental and surly, I rather enjoyed his company, and despite what he'd said about it I really did consider him _something _of a friend, but beyond that…I knew nothing about him. I'd never even seen his face.

I lay in bed watching him one day as he scraped away at the violin, swaying slightly with the music and his eyes closed in bliss. Those hands of his were a marvel, teasing the wonderful melodies from the instrument and making it sing in delight…making love to it, really…

I blushed at the thought and coughed softly in discomfort. He paused in the music and lowered the bow, looking at me expectantly. He thought I'd been trying to get his attention.

To cover my embarrassment, I said the first thing that came to mind. "Erik, are we friends? I know, you keep telling me we're not, but I don't think that's true anymore. If I'm such a nuisance as you thought I was, you wouldn't be here right now nursing me back to health, you would have just left me to die on the bathroom floor."

He sighed. "All right, girl, you caught me," he said. "The truth is, you're not the nuisance I'd have you believe you are. Mad as it sounds, over the past few weeks you've become much more than that to me."

I held my breath. Was this it? Would he tell me here and now?

"You're like running barefoot through cool grass and—"

And?

"And stepping on a thorn. An unpleasant surprise, a great inconvenience, and a pain I could do without."

My mouth fell open and Erik laughed. "I'm kidding," he explained, "but you should have seen your face!"

"That was rude!" I told him.

"I know. Come on, Vivienne, I'm only teasing you."

"Well, would you answer my question?"

He thought it over for a long time, lowering the violin to his lap and plucking at the strings aimlessly. I couldn't keep my eyes off his hands. They intrigued me, the way the fingers curled and flexed so deftly and expertly, but without conscious thought as though they were made for the sole purpose of creating the most beautiful music ever heard. Those hands had saved my life, binding my wounds and caring for me so well. Those hands had touched me, holding me close to him, caressing my skin, unlacing my corset—

Wait a minute, where did _that_ come from? I should be outraged he'd taken such a liberty with my person. My modesty demanded it!

Yet for some strange reason, I couldn't consider it a liberty and couldn't help but wonder what else those hands could do—

"I suppose we _are _friends, to a point," he said at last. "It rather complicates things, but it is what it is."

"Why does it complicate things?" I asked.

He gave me a wry smile. "You're supposed to be my prisoner, remember? What kind of jailer am I to befriend a prisoner?"

"Well, then, maybe you're not a jailer after all."

"Clearly, my dear. I've been demoted to overbearing host."

"And since when do you call me 'dear?'" I inquired.

"Since I decided I wanted to call you that," he replied smoothly. "Do you object?"

"Well…no."

His smile grew wider and he began to play again. I lay there and watched him for a few minutes, then interrupted, on purpose this time. "Erik, will you tell me about yourself?"

"What do you want to know?" he asked, never ceasing in his playing. "The story of my life hardly compares to the ballet's tales of the Phantom."

"I don't care. I just want to know. Where did you learn to play the violin so well?"

"Observation and diligent practice," he told me. "I once knew a man who played the most intriguing folk music. I would watch him for hours at a time, and when I finally got hold of an instrument, I studied with it until I could play just as well and then some."

"What was his name?" I asked.

"His name was Casamir, a gypsy with hands stiff with age, except for when he played. Then, he became a young man again in the prime of his life."

"Where did you learn to play the organ?"

"That was strictly trial and error. I experimented with the chords for years before it sounded anything like music, and then it sounded like music never heard before."

I could believe it. "And what about your family? What were they like?"

He paused, setting the violin down again. Those yellow eyes met mine, and he said, "Be glad you never had family like them. I was, to make a very long story short, a disgrace, a curse, and a source of unending shame and despair. I'd rather not trouble you with the dramatic details, if it's all the same to you."

"What family could ever consider _you_ a disgrace?" I demanded candidly. "I've never met anyone like you, Erik!"

His smile grew ironic again. "Precisely," he replied. "You're very sweet, Vivienne, but you don't know the half of it."

"I want to know," I persisted. I paused, then asked, "Was it because of your face?" 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

Ah, we came to it at last. I was so accustomed to my mask it was easy for me to forget about it, and since Vivienne herself seemed unbothered by it I'd let the matter rest. But damn little chorus girls and their curiosity! I should have known that eventually, she would want to know about my face.

I sighed. "Yes, it was because of my face," I told her, expecting more questions and more prying and not at all in the mood for it.

But she surprised me. She simply nodded and let the matter rest.

Illogical as it was, I was as annoyed by her diffidence as I was by her curiosity. "What, that's it?" I asked testily. "No more on the subject? My mother's hatred and my father's embarrassment must be justified by the way I look?"

Her brow furrowed. "No," she said, "that's not what I was thinking at all."

"It must be something along those lines," I pushed. "If not, why the silence? Do you think people deserve their misfortunes just for being born different? It's quite all right, I've grown used to others using my face as an excuse for their cruelty."

"But I've never even seen your face," she insisted.

"You were there the night of my opera. You heard the screams and saw the shock when everyone saw what I look like. You must imagine some terrible beast beneath this mask."

"I don't know what I imagine," she told me. "I don't know you without the mask, and I can't really picture you otherwise."

I snorted. "Should I take that as an insult?" I asked. "You can't picture it because you don't _want _to picture it."

"Don't act like you know what's in my mind," she snapped, then she blushed…most unbecomingly, I might add. The pink tint of her cheeks coupled with the red of her hair looked so comical I had to laugh. "Then tell me," I taunted. "What _is _in your mind, dear Vivienne?"

She hemmed and hawed for a few minutes, then said, "I think you're the most unusual, fascinating, and oddly wonderful man I have ever met."

I couldn't restrain another laugh. "Should I take _that _as a compliment? Oddly wonderful? No one's ever called me that before."

"Don't laugh at me," she scolded. "Not all of us have a magic way with words, you know."

"Oh, but you do, my dear," I told her. "You just made my day."

"And," she went on, "and I think…I think it's not fair for people to treat you differently than others just because you _are _different from others. I think you're just the same as everyone else on the inside. You have a heart, and feelings, and…and needs. I think you need to be loved, just like everyone else."

We sat there quietly, just staring at each other. I felt a deep gratitude to her, my little phoenix, for seeing what I'd long wanted someone, anyone, to see. Her heart was open and in her eyes, illuminating an emerald spark in their depths.

"And what do _you _want, Vivienne?" I asked her softly.

I heard her sharp intake of breath and felt as if a dart had pierced my own lungs. What was I saying? What was I asking her? And most importantly, what was her answer?

"I—don't know," she replied. "I don't know what I want."

"But who else would?" I urged gently.

"No one," she admitted, "but Erik, I—I want to _know _you, and I mean you, not the Phantom. I don't want us to be strangers to each other."

"Why?"

She froze in place and I myself couldn't move a muscle. My mind screamed out at our every word and every silence, but my soul wouldn't listen. I wasn't used to fear; I preferred to control others' fear rather than be the victim of my own. But I was terrified, of what I still didn't want to say. "Why, Vivienne?" I asked again.

"Because—" She stopped, looking terribly confused. But why was she confused? Why did this have to be so confusing? Shouldn't it be easy? Then again, why should it be easy? It hadn't been easy with Christine, and there was only my heart on the line back then.

It wasn't so anymore.

My hands were shaking. I grasped my violin tighter and saw her clench the bedclothes in her fists. I couldn't stand the silence! I looked away from her and began to play again. I sensed her moving near me, but I closed my eyes and tried to ignore her. She sat next to me on the sofa and I felt her lay a hand on my arm. I stiffened, the bow screeching across the strings of the violin. "What are you doing?" I asked sharply, opening my eyes and turning to her.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and reached her hand out to mine, running her fingertips over my knuckles and tracing the fingers that curled around the bow. I shivered at the contact, light as a whisper and infinitely more pleasant. She gently took the bow from me and I lowered the violin from my shoulder as her eyes met mine. There was that spark again, blinding in its intensity. Did she know what she was doing?

I raised my hand and ran my fingers through her hair. She leaned closer to me and I dared to let my skin brush hers, touching her warm cheek and watching in amazement as she closed her eyes and began to smile. I was sure she could hear the frantic racing of my heart. Did she know what she was doing?

I continued to tremor as I lifted my other hand and tenderly cupped her face. How could she sit there so calmly, smiling so serenely as if she actually didn't mind that I was touching her? Most women fled at my approach and avoided my touch like the plague, and I was unfamiliar with someone actually seeking it.

It was so overwhelming I couldn't take it in. I drew my hands away and got to my feet. "You should rest now," I said, not looking at her. She tried to protest but I left the room in four swift strides and rushed through the house to my bedroom.

I threw myself down on the bench before the organ and pounded the keys, frustrated, confused, and more than a little shaken. I could try all I liked, but I couldn't deny my feelings anymore. Despite all my heart had already suffered, I was only one step away from giving it to someone again. And I wanted to so badly…

But how could I? I'd learned already that my heart couldn't be trusted, nor could I trust someone with it. She could have good intentions, and so could I, but how could I be sure those intentions wouldn't turn on me? On us both? She had been hurt too, and I didn't want to cause her more pain. I cared too damn much about her!

I slammed my hands down on the keys, producing no beautiful music but a cacophonous blast from the pipes that made the walls shudder. I stood again and kicked the bench away from me, pacing back and forth. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to have these memories of watching over her sleeping figure, caressing her soft skin, or holding her body to mine. I wasn't supposed to feel anything for her, no friendship, no affection, and, God help me, no desire.

I wasn't supposed to, but Lord save me, my contrary nature made me want it all the more fiercely for that. And she, Lord save her, wanted it too.

**Talk to me! Leave me some love!**


	13. Chapter 13

**I know everyone is impatient to get to the action, so I'll just let you go with a quick hello. Enjoy!**

_Vivienne_

Erik didn't stay in my room anymore, and for the next three days I only saw him when he brought me my meals and at night when he came to play for me. I was left alone the rest of the time, listening to the sounds of his composing drifting through the walls of the house when what I wanted most was his company, his presence beside my bed that was at once comforting and unsettling. He didn't speak to me except in short, clipped sentences asking me how I was feeling and if I was comfortable. I lied every time I told him I was fine, and he knew I lied, yet he didn't challenge me.

I spent the time thinking hard and seriously about what was happening. I had wanted to deny it, but…it was staring me right in the face now. Somehow, and God only knew how, I had grown attached to Erik. Oh, why did I keep fooling myself? I was more than attached; I was attracted. Oh, _God_, was I attracted!

What was it about him? He was sarcastic and irascible and peevish and unmanageable and…and…and why oh _why _was I so bent on slandering him to make it easier on myself? Was I somehow trying to turn the situation into something ridiculous so I could reject what was in my mind? I didn't _have _to make it more ridiculous than it already was! He was the Phantom of the Opera, for goodness' sake!

Was it possible I felt even more than an attraction to him? I didn't want to say yet. It was too soon to say something like that. But it was only too obvious now that Erik _did _feel something for me. What exactly it was, I had no idea, but it was definitely something, and I would coax it out of him eventually.

I raised my hand to my cheek, recalling his earlier touch there. His skin was indeed chilled, but it was startling how it awakened such sensations in my body. Warmth spread through my veins, a shiver went down my spine, and my skin began to tingle pleasantly. I'd had to close my eyes and lose myself to the feeling…until he ran away from me. And now he was ignoring me entirely.

Well, that would never do. I'd have to put an end to that.

I flung back my blankets and got out of bed. My legs were unsteady after staying off them for so long, and I swayed drunkenly as I made my way to the chest of drawers. I collected a change of clothes, then went into the bathroom to make myself presentable.

Thank goodness Erik had at least allowed me to wash the blood out of my hair several days before, though he waited directly outside the bathroom door as I did. I couldn't help but wonder what he'd been thinking, to stand there patiently as I bathed myself, with only a door between him and my naked self. I wondered what he'd been thinking the whole time I was asleep in my bed, wearing only my underthings. I wondered—

Goodness! When did I start wondering things like _that?_

_Get a grip on yourself, Vivienne, _I told myself sternly. _And stop acting like such a hussy!_

_I'm not, _I replied. _I'm just…curious. Is that a crime now?_

_ Well, be as curious as you like, but don't go trying to seduce him—_

_ I'm not! It hadn't even occurred to me!_

_ Then see that it stays that way._

I sighed and changed into one of the dresses Erik had bought me. This one was a beautiful dark blue wool, so dark it was almost black. I felt in this color, I could sneak up on even Erik in the dark, and I could move fairly silently myself when I felt like it…I decided what he needed was a good shock to get his attention.

Dressed (and properly laced into my corset—I was sure I'd never look at one the same way again), I took up a hairbrush and set to work twisting my hair onto my head. I wished I hadn't broken my mirror; I was useless at styling my own hair at the best of times, but with no mirror—

Hold it. Why was I so concerned with my hair all of a sudden? Since I'd been here, the most I'd done had been to brush it out and wear it loose. It wasn't very lady-like, but I hated to have those harsh pins poking into my scalp. They never stayed put anyway.

Which brought me back to my earlier question. Why was I so concerned with my hair? Did I want to look my best when I gave that man a piece of my mind? And trust me, I fully intended to give him a piece of my mind. But was it necessary for me to look at all enticing when I did? I wasn't trying to seduce him, after all.

I bent forward at the waist, flipped my head over, and shook my hair out. When I straightened again, I was properly tousled. But wait…did I look enticing with windblown hair? He was always talking about my nerve and fiery spirit. Did that attract him? If I embodied my personality in my appearance, and he responded to it in…whatever way, did that count as seduction?

With a huff of annoyance, I brushed my hair again. Who would have thought one simple touch would throw everything into chaos?

I straightened my skirt, took a deep breath, and went to the bedroom door. I knelt and pressed my finger to the nail and the wall swung open. I got to my feet again and crept into the hall.

Judging by the thundering music of the organ, Erik was composing in his bedroom. Perfect. If I wanted to give him a shock, I couldn't ask for a greater opportunity than under the cover of the music. I held my skirt up off the carpet in the hallway and tiptoed towards his room. I paused in the doorway and looked in.

He was seated at the keyboard, his hands flying across the ebony and ivory in a blur of motion. _Why does he have to have such mesmerizing hands? _I bemoaned. He leaned forward over the instrument, copying out a chord with one hand while the other continued to stroke the keys. He was so utterly absorbed I began to have second thoughts about interrupting him, but he had it coming.

I crossed the room and stood a few steps behind him. I took one last breath, and set my hand on his shoulder.

He turned and got to his feet in one smooth, rapid motion, snatching my hand off his shoulder and twisting my arm behind my back before either he or I had the chance to register what had happened. I gave a cry of surprise and he released me. It was strange; for having such cold hands, the heat of his body warmed me to my core.

"Vivienne," he said, "don't ever sneak up on me like that, especially when I'm working!"

"I'm sorry," I replied, stepping away from him and looking back at him. "Sit down, I need to talk to you."

"What are you even doing out of bed? I didn't say you could get up yet—"

"Erik, sit down!"

I'll admit, I even shocked myself. We both paused, stunned at the force in my tone and the command, period. He stood staring down at me for several minutes, then sat down without a word.

My mouth was dry. I swallowed and cleared my throat, then said, "Erik, you've been avoiding me for days, and I know why. I can't imagine what mistreatment you've known to run from me the way you did, but I don't see how pretending what happened never happened to begin with will change anything. You called me a coward for wanting to die, but you're being just as cowardly if you ask me."

"And as I recall, I never _did _ask you," he cut in.

"I wasn't finished," I told him. "Instead of wallowing in our misery, we need to put it aside and overcome it, remember? And Erik—" My heart thudded painfully in my chest, but I pressed on doggedly. "I've seen the way you look at me, and if I'm completely honest with myself—I—I've—" I sighed heavily and tried to start over. "If I'm honest with myself, and with you, then I have to admit that I've grown—" I felt myself blushing. I sounded like a stupid little girl in puppy love with the distinguished gentleman who lived across the street.

His eyes bored into me. Just when I thought I'd gotten used to his eyes, I had to notice a new intensity in them that did nothing to calm my nerves. I shuffled my feet uncomfortably and twisted my fingers into my skirt. He reached out absently and brushed at my hand, stilling my motions with one touch.

My instinctual reaction was to take a step closer to him and beg for another touch, but I settled with finding the words I needed.

"To be perfectly honest, Erik, if you consider me a friend, I have to say that I consider you the most charismatic and appealing man I've ever met, and that I know that you feel some sort of pull towards me, and that we're both too scared to admit it to ourselves. But hopefully, now that one of us is strong enough to confront it, we can do something about it."

"Like what?" he asked. He didn't confirm or deny anything I said, and I took that as some sort of encouragement.

"Well, we can start by getting it all out in the open," I told him. "And since you seem to need persuading, I'll go first. I was afraid of you when we first met, when all I knew of you was the stories told about the Phantom, but I've come to realize that that's _not _you. I know I still have a lot to learn about you, but what I do know makes me want to know even more, and when you touched me in my bedroom it was the most amazing, extraordinary thing I've ever known. If you stop hiding from me like a child, I think I could grow to feel even more for you."

He sat mute for what felt like an eternity. What was he thinking? 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

What was she saying?

She didn't even know me!

What in the name of God was going on?

I heard her words but my mind wouldn't accept them. This was just too strange to take in. I'd had my suspicions when she let me touch her, but to actually hear it from her own lips was…insane! What was she doing?

I couldn't speak, and I could barely think. She knew I was drawn to her, and I now knew that she was drawn to me. What were we supposed to do now? I had no idea what kind of fairy tale she had concocted in her head, but I doubted reality would match up. For one thing, we were still strangers. For another, we both had too many hurts of the past for them to make for a merry present. And what about the future? What did that hold now that this had happened?

She stood watching me, her hair streaming down her back and her eyes shining brightly, looking lovelier than ever in one of the dresses I'd bought for her. No, I shouldn't use words like "lovely" in reference to her, it was too…

Too what, exactly? She'd just said she—

I sighed and beckoned her to me. She came forward and I caught hold of her wrists and drew her closer. "Hold still," I ordered, no longer looking at her. She didn't say a word as I untied the bandages around her wrists and examined her cuts. They had healed, and they had left scars. I traced them with my fingers, noticing as I did so that she shivered slightly. In revulsion? That was the reaction I was usually met with, after all. But no, she'd said otherwise. She said my touch was the most extraordinary thing she'd ever known. Should I believe her?

My hands trembled as I raised her hand in mine, my fingers curled around hers and my other hand supporting her thin arm. Could she see how I hesitated? Did she understand? I was sure she did, after all she'd been through. This was going to be a learning experience for both of us. I looked up at her for an instant, then lowered my eyes and tentatively kissed the scar on her wrist.

I heard her little intake of breath, as if she too suddenly found it hard to get air into her lungs. She didn't pull away; as a matter of fact, she stepped even closer until I could feel her leg against my knee, even with the bulk of her skirt between us. She raised her free hand and brought it close to my bare cheek, halting only a hair's breadth away from my skin. I froze with sudden trepidation. The last time anyone had touched my face, it had been to remove my mask and expose me before a crowded theater…the last time anyone had touched me, it hadn't been just anyone. It had been Christine.

But this was Vivienne, and she wasn't anything like Christine.

I leaned into her hand and just like that, she was touching me. I closed my eyes as she caressed my cheek, her hand so gentle and warm against my skin. My head began to spin with the power of such a simple thing, such mundane contact. But it wasn't mundane at all, not to me. It was so much more than that, after a lifetime spent between only violent contact and no contact at all.

Tears began to work their way from my eyes, flowing gently over her fingers. She took her hand away and I immediately snatched it up again, unwilling to let her go yet.

"What's wrong?" she asked innocently.

Wrong? Nothing was wrong; it was all so wonderfully, wonderfully right! It was almost too right. It seemed like there had to be something terrible lurking around the bend ahead to come along and spoil the beauty before me. How could I tell her of my fears?

I should have known I wouldn't have to. She knelt in front of me, her hands still held in mine, and said, "I don't want to rush what might happen, Erik. For both our sakes, I think we need to let this take time. We have plenty of it, right? I'm not going anywhere any time soon."

"No," I agreed, "you're not going anywhere." I drew her up from the floor to sit beside me and she wordlessly pressed herself against me. I wrapped my arm around her and whispered into her ear, "You're not going anywhere. I can't let you leave me again." I breathed in the scent of her hair and twisted several fiery strands through my fingers. "You belong to me, now."

**If I say anything right now, I'll give it all away. Tell me what you think!**


	14. Chapter 14

**I wonder what my dear readers will think of this? :)**

_Vivienne_

How can I describe what the next few days were like? We resumed my violin lessons, and Erik came to admit that I had improved greatly. During the lessons, he kept things very businesslike, playing the part of strict instructor, and I did my best to be a diligent student. He got rather pedantic at times, but I didn't mind him being so bossy about the music so long as he rewarded me with a poetry reading after the lesson was over.

When he wasn't my teacher, however, he was every inch the best friend I'd ever had. We talked a lot, getting to know each other better and sharing stories of our lives. He still teased me every now and then, and I had grown confident enough to tease him back. He laughed at my impersonations of him in his serious, sulky moods and when he was composing, and I soon decided I loved to make him laugh. I grew, if possible, even cheekier with him, and with his sharp wit we were evenly matched.

He still came into my room at night to play for me, and it was those moments I came to love the most. I would lay in bed and watch him, sometimes feeling his eyes on me and sometimes seeing him lose himself in his own melodies. It was a profoundly moving thing, to be allowed this glimpse of him. His passion bled through the music, every note that rang from the violin so laced in his own emotion I felt as if he'd somehow taken me into his soul. I wondered what was in his mind at those times, and when I asked him one night he said, "I'm not aware of any thought when I play. I just…feel. Have you ever had a moment when your mind surrendered control to whatever moved your spirit and you just followed wherever it led you?"

I nodded. "It happened sometimes when I danced," I replied. "I always had to mind my steps so I didn't fall out of line, but during a performance the steps didn't mean a thing to me. I just let whatever was in me move me how it chose."

"Then you understand what it's like for me with my music," he said. "You can't really describe it, can you? It just is what it is."

"And you can't help but give in to it," I finished. "I know exactly what you mean."

He smiled at me, then got to his feet and came to my bedside. He stroked my hair back from my forehead and traced the line of my jaw before giving me a kiss on the tip of my nose. I smiled when he returned to the sofa and sat down again, and I asked, "What was that for?"

"Nothing in particular," he said. "I was just letting whatever is in me right now move me as it chose."

"And what exactly is in you right now?"

"Admiration, my dear. Intense admiration." He took up the violin again and started to play, and it wasn't long before he played me to sleep.

Our time was filled with moments like that, just casually sharing our thoughts and occasionally exchanging a simple touch. Erik wasn't at all used to any of it, and I'd had no experience in it. We were on an even footing, and I think we both liked it that way.

I sat on the sofa after our lesson one day, watching him in his chair, his eyes riveted on the book he was reading. What I could see of his face was still and focused, those yellow eyes sliding back and forth as he read. One of his hands left its place supporting the book and turned the page. It was an odd thing, but I'd never realized just how beautiful a man's hands could be until I'd begun to study Erik's.

He sensed my scrutiny and looked up from the book. "What is it, Vivienne?" he asked.

"Nothing in particular," I replied. "I just like watching you. It's still strange to me, after knowing of you as the Phantom for so long, to actually know you as a human. Has anyone ever told you that you are a mesmerizing man?"

He laughed. "Never," he said. "And I never thought about it before, but now that you bring it up, I'm curious. Just how exactly am I mesmerizing?"

"The way you move, for one thing," I told him. "You have such grace in your movements, it's hard not to stare at you. I for one fail dismally at it. And your voice, Erik! Your voice was the very first thing that drew me to you, the very first time you ever spoke to me! And you just have this…aura around you, this elegance and mystery that's so magnetic. I couldn't imagine a more captivating man."

His smile was compelling and seductive, but his voice was kind and sweet. "Do you know what drew me to you?" he asked. "It was that fire in your soul. I noticed it that first morning you spent here. What binds you to me are the shadows around me; what binds me to you is your light."

"So in that sense, we complement each other," I said.

"You could say that," he replied. "Or you could say that's why we're always at odds with each other, you dear child."

"Child?" I repeated. "I'll have you know, monsieur, that I am a grown woman of the world and a former member of the ballet, and the Opera Garnier doesn't allow children in the chorus."

"A grown woman, you say?" he asked. "Just how old are you, mademoiselle?"

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen?" he said, laughing again. "My, my, you're quite ancient, aren't you? Why, you must have been there the day God created fire."

"Don't tease!"

"No, it makes sense. You were there when He created fire, and you took some of it into your spirit to keep with you forever. That's what makes you so ageless, my dear."

"Well then, just how old are you? You must have been there when God created night, to be so dark and mysterious all the time. Come on, monsieur, how old are you?"

"I'm old enough that I don't have to answer that question," he replied smugly. "That's my secret, little girl."

I got to my feet and stood before him with my hands on my hips. "Little girl?" I said. "Whatever happened to how ageless I am? I may be smaller than most women, monsieur, but I'm still a woman!"

"I have no doubt of that," he replied. "As I said, that fire within you is ageless."

That voice…was it so necessary for it to be so hypnotic? He leaned back in the chair, the book lying open on his knee, and his gaze held something akin to cockiness as he looked at me. His half-smile intrigued me, probably more than it should have. I paused momentarily in thought. Was he actually _flirting _with me?

I moved a few steps forward, reached out, and took the book from him. I saw his left eyebrow arch quizzically, but he didn't say a word. I came even closer to him and stopped again. How close was too close, exactly? I still felt a little shy, and he had a history of fleeing from me. I watched him closely, looking for signs of trepidation, but he continued to observe my every movement, more curious than anxious. I was the nervous one of the two of us.

I was so close I could reach out and touch him now, yet I stood frozen. I sensed him about to laugh again and I couldn't blame him. I was acting every inch the child I'd just claimed I wasn't. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to work up the nerve to do something," I replied.

"Well, if anyone on earth has nerve, Vivienne, it's most definitely you," he told me. "Go on, don't be afraid."

Did he have any clue what I was planning on doing? He might have had some idea. I told myself there was no reason to be coy, that I could trust Erik, that…

I handed the book back and sat down on the sofa again. "I'm sorry," I said. "It's just…too soon."

"Too soon for what?" he asked.

I didn't answer.

He set the book aside and said, "It's all right, Vivienne. You wanted to move slowly, so that's what we'll do. Don't do anything you're not ready to do."

I nodded, glad he understood. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik <em>

I breathed a sigh of relief. If she'd had the strength to do whatever she'd planned on doing, I wouldn't have stopped her, but that didn't mean I wasn't shaken to my core. She wasn't ready to move ahead, and to be honest, neither was I. I still wasn't sure how to go about forming a bond with someone, and after Christine I was still hesitant to form any bonds at all.

_Well, it's a little late for that, isn't it? _I asked myself. _Weren't you just talking about what binds you together, you great fool?_

Even so…

We didn't speak much for the rest of the night, and I kept a close eye on her as I played for her in her bedroom. She seemed subdued and morose. Had she been anyone other than Vivienne, I would have said that it was my presence that disturbed her, but I knew that wasn't the case. She wanted my company, a fact I was still getting used to. No, there was something else on her mind, and I didn't have to wonder what it was. The poor child was still afraid to trust men, and afraid to trust herself around them. I felt I should say something to comfort her, but my mind drew a blank. I just did what already came so naturally—I played my music.

I don't know how long she'd been asleep, but I must have drifted off myself at some point. My own melodies flowed through my dreams in an unbroken medley until I heard the sound of tears. That wasn't part of the music… The sound grew louder, and I felt myself waken.

Vivienne wept softly in her sleep, and I knew from experience it wouldn't be long before she began to scream. I went to her and sat beside her on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair and saying her name. "Vivienne, wake up. Wake up, Vivienne, it's just a dream."

She awoke with a gasp, her eyes wide and fearful. She saw me and snatched at my hands. "Erik?" she asked.

"I'm here, Vivienne. It's all right, you're safe."

"It was him again," she whispered. "I saw him, I could feel—his hands—on me—"

She broke off, sobbing uncontrollably. I gathered her up and held her in my arms, rocking her back and forth as she cried. "It's all right," I murmured in her ear. "It's all right, no one's going to hurt you. I'm right here, _chérie._ I won't leave you."

I held her until her tears subsided, and even then I didn't let go of her. She clung to me tightly and continued to tremble in lingering fear. "How will I ever let another man touch me again?" she asked quietly.

"You're letting me touch you right now," I replied just as softly, running my forefinger down the bridge of her nose.

"That's not what I mean," she said, shaking her head slightly. "How can I allow a man to—touch me, like that, ever again?"

I held her tighter to me and told her, "Not every man will touch you like that in violence. I never would. You know you can trust me, right?"

She nodded. "It's not just about trust," she said. "I just know that I'll always see him, it will always be him…even when I'm with you."

"You _don't _know that, Vivienne. I won't let anything like that happen to you again, I'll protect you—"

"You can't protect me from my memories," she told me, "or from my dreams. I'll never be able to forget that day as long as I live."

I pulled away from her just enough to take her face in my hands and look her squarely in the eye. "You might not ever forget entirely," I said, "but you don't have to remember all the time, either. You can make new memories that don't hurt so much, and those in turn can become your dreams."

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"You could say I'm willing to take it on faith," I replied. "Honestly, it's what I've been hoping for my whole life. Most of my years have just been one terrible memory. It's why I find it hard to sleep sometimes. But there have been some good things, too. When I play, when I compose—"

"With Christine Daaé?"

I paused, then held her close to me again. "Yes, sometimes with Christine," I said. "Now, though, even those good things belong in my nightmares. It's strange how our pleasant memories can torment us on occasion."

She sniffed. "I'm sorry I mentioned her," she said.

"No, don't apologize," I told her. "I think I need to remember the good about her, or I'll lose myself in the bad and be afraid to reach out to you."

"Do you think that could happen to me?" she asked. "That I could get so caught up in what happened to me that I won't let myself find something good?"

What was I supposed to do to comfort her? She was in pain, and I was only too familiar with this kind of suffering, this kind of frightened longing. I wrapped my arms even tighter around her and asked, "What can I do to help you, Vivienne?"

She stayed quiet in my arms for several long, sorrowful minutes, then said, "Could you show me what it could be like with someone else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would it be all right if you…if you kissed me?"

My heart stopped beating in my chest. Kiss her? No, impossible…

Literally, impossible. My mask was in the way. I may have been able to touch my lips to the scar on her wrist, but to touch my lips to hers would mean taking off my mask. We might have come to trust each other these past weeks, but I wasn't strong enough for that, and I doubted she of all people was ready for it.

"Please, Erik?" she asked, nearly begging. "Just one kiss? I just…I need to know."

She was still shaking, so I was positive she couldn't tell how I'd begun to quake. How could I give her what she asked for? How could I refuse her?

I prayed she didn't know how afraid I was. I swallowed hard and said, "Close your eyes."

I could sense her confusion, but I saw her obey. I released her and stroked her cheek before raising my hands to my mask. "Keep your eyes shut," I told her. "Whatever you do, don't look. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "Yes, Erik."

My heart remembered to beat again, but now it was racing frantically. It was my lungs that had forgotten how to do their job now; I could scarcely breathe. I forced myself to take in more air, then removed my mask. Her eyes stayed closed and I marveled at how she trusted me then. How was such a thing even possible?

I touched my fingers to her lips and felt her tremble ever so slightly, then I kissed her.

My lips were as mismatched as the rest of my face and I knew she could feel it, but she didn't pull away from me. She moved to touch me but I caught her hands in mine, twining my fingers through hers. I hardly knew what I was doing, but I was doing it for her.

I don't know how long it was before I finally broke away and let go of her hands. I replaced my mask and told her, "You can open your eyes."

If she had opened them, I couldn't tell. I couldn't look at her. "I know it wasn't that much of a kiss," I told her, feeling humbled and self-conscious, "but—"

"It was the most wonderful kiss I've ever had," she said. "Thank you, Erik."

I turned to her. She was looking at me just as she always did, fascinated and enchanted. I nodded uncomfortably, then made to rise. She caught my arm and pulled me back. "Would you—stay here?" she asked. "Next to me, while I sleep?"

"Vivienne, I—"

"Please, Erik?"

I hesitated, then slowly leaned back against the pillows, stretching out beside her. She lay down and wriggled closer, closing her eyes. I put my arms around her again and felt her relax back into a peaceful sleep. As for me, sleep didn't come again that night. I was too wrapped up in my silent tears.

**Well...what do you think?**


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry to keep everyone waiting, as I know you're all holding your breath for some E/V romance (or could I be mistaken?). Enjoy!**

_Vivienne_

I half expected Erik to be gone when I woke the next morning, but when I opened my eyes there he was next to me. His eyes were closed and his breathing was soft and regular…_he must be asleep, _I thought. I raised my hand and ever so gently touched his face.

His eyes snapped open and he flinched away from me as if I'd hit him. He stood beside the bed, taking great, heaving breaths like he'd just been running for miles over a rough road. "Vivienne," he said. "Please don't startle me like that again."

"I'm sorry," I replied. "I didn't mean to, I just…well…good morning?"

He looked at me with a slightly suspicious gleam in his eye and said, "Good morning. I hope you slept well?"

"I did, thank you. And you?"

He shrugged. "You should get dressed. I'll have breakfast ready shortly." He turned to leave but I leaped out of bed and crossed the room in a bound, at his side in an instant. I threw my arms around him and held him to me. "Thank you, Erik," I said.

"Thank you for what?" he asked. He didn't react to my spontaneous display; he just stood there frozen in my embrace.

"Thank you for what you did last night," I explained. "I know you didn't want to, but it just means so much to me—"

"Didn't want to?" he interrupted. "Didn't know how, is more fitting. I just have no idea how to be…affectionate, or…amorous, or anything like that."

"And neither do I," I said. I closed my eyes and pressed my face into his jacket, breathing in his scent. He smelled of something spicy that was at once exotic and calming, and it was bliss to lose myself it in. "Is it all right if we just stand here like this until one of us learns?" I asked.

"Well, we might get tired of standing," he replied.

"Then we can sit down," I told him.

He sighed. "Vivienne, I'm really not in the mood—"

"Humor me," I said.

"Humor you, humor you," he grumbled. "That's all I do these days, humor you." I didn't have to look at him to know he was rolling his eyes at my absurdity, but he drew away from me and led me to the sofa, where we both sat and I wrapped my arms around him again. "You're not used to this," I said, stating a fact rather than asking a question.

"No, I'm not," he replied. "I'm still adjusting to the idea of someone not only comfortable with me sleeping in her bed, but actually asking me to."

"Well, it's not like I asked you to—you know," I told him, blushing scarlet. "Don't say it like I threw myself at you, you're embarrassing me."

"How rude of me. I'm sorry, my dear."

I fidgeted slightly next to him. "To tell the truth, I'm not used to this either," I said. "Let's just…let's just stay here until it feels comfortable, all right? Until it feels natural?"

"Does it feel _un_natural?" he asked.

"Well, no, but I—well—it feels—oh, just be quiet already and sit here!"

"I'm already sitting."

"Well, then, be quiet! Do you always have to be so…you?"

"Would you prefer I be somebody else?"

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "You know what I mean," I told him. "Do you always have to be so difficult?"

"Only when it doesn't suit you," he replied.

"Just stop talking, Erik."

"I can't. If I do, I'll have to think about how awkward this is, and that's not an appealing prospect."

I looked at him. "Awkward?" I asked. "What's awkward about it?"

He sighed. "Must you be so naļve, dear girl?" he lamented. "I'm not such a very…well, as you said, I'm not used to this, and now I have a bright-eyed, lovely little chorus girl plastered against me urging me to—"

"To what?" I asked playfully. "What am I urging you to do?"

"You're not urging me to _do _anything," he retorted. "It's more about what you're urging me to _feel_, you minx."

"Like butterflies?" I asked innocently.

He grunted. "Something like that."

I raised my eyebrows in realization and—what kind of flirt was I turning into?—stifled a giggle. To think that this sober, serious, invulnerable man, the infamous Opera Ghost, could respond to me in such a way! I wiggled closer to him and toyed with the lapel of his jacket, but he raised his hand and stilled mine in his grasp. He finally turned to look at me, and I liked that fire I saw in his yellow eyes. It was intense, to be sure, but not at all intimidating. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said. "I'm just…doing it."

"Well, until you figure out what exactly it is that you're doing, you're going to have to leave me out of it," he told me.

I sighed. "Fine, I won't torment you so much," I replied, "but is it too much to ask that you give me something here? I feel I might as well embrace the bedpost."

"I'm not going to kiss you again, if that's what you're after."

"Of course not," I said, stung. "And is the idea so repellant?"

He gave a huff of annoyance, then put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me even closer. He stroked my hair and twisted a few tendrils through his fingers, then gently brushed the back of his hand against my cheek. I closed my eyes, smiling, and dared to lay a kiss on his fingers as he drew away. He had a way of making me feel so at ease with him. Even if I didn't know where we were, we were always on level ground.

I reached up and caught his hand, lacing my fingers through his. I pressed tiny, coquettish kisses to his knuckles and traced his features with my other hand, letting my fingertips explore his face with feather-light caresses. I heard him inhale sharply and he warned in a throaty murmur, "Don't start something you can't stop, Vivienne."

"Are you threatening to take the reins out of my hands?" I asked.

"What made you think you held them to begin with?"

I paused, finding his gaze and holding it. The fire there burned all the more fiercely and I shivered as I sensed the aura of power surrounding him. He took my hand away from his face and drew me closer to him, and I knew a little jolt of nerves. I hadn't planned this…

Almost anxiously, I edged around until I was in his lap, my body folded into his embrace. Was it just me, or was there a tense spark in that intense fire in his eyes? I hoped my hands didn't shake too noticeably as I slipped them inside his jacket, my fingers brushing across his tie and the buttons of his vest and shirt. He _was _nervous; I could feel his chest heaving as he continued to breathe deeply, too deeply for a calm man.

What was the game here? To see who would put an end to this first?

He twined a hand through my hair again, then grazed across the skin of my throat. Then and only then did it occur to me that I was clad only in my night gown…_surprisingly little for the girl who threw a fit over the removal of her corset, _I chided myself. _So much for not acting like a hussy…_

His fingers wandered down my neck, provoking another shiver at the sensations his touch inspired. I closed my eyes again and leaned into him as his fingertips drifted across my chest, coming to a halt at the neckline of my gown—

We moved away from each other simultaneously, him clearing his throat loudly and me smoothing out my skirt in an agitated manner. I stood and crossed the room to throw on my dressing gown and I heard him say brusquely, "You should get dressed now. I'll go get breakfast."

I nodded mutely, then he left the room and I chose a gown for the day—one with a rather high neckline. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

Construction to rebuild the Opera House began over the next few days, and it made me edgy…well, edgier. Vivienne was doing a fine job of that on her own. She reminded me a bit of Christine, with her innocent curiosity and curious innocence—curious enough for being a member of the ballet, and downright astonishing after all she'd been through. We were intensely polite to each other after the incident, yet another incident, in her bedroom. Neither of us said a word on the subject, but I knew it was still on her mind by her suddenly shy behavior.

I sat at the organ one afternoon, aimlessly plunking at the keys rather than actually working, waiting for inspiration and more than a little bored. The violin lesson was over for the day, and my pupil had retreated to her room to rest. She was getting better and better, though she still complained of my strict teaching methods, never mind that she progressed rapidly when she obeyed. I'd agreed to read aloud to her weeks ago after lessons to appease her and reward her cooperation, but today she'd dashed away with no mention of it.

Random notes fell upon my ears as I searched for just the right chord to get the creative fire burning when there was a tiny cough behind me. I turned around and there she was, her hair tumbling down her back and a book in her hands. Speak of the Devil.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten," I told her.

"Were you perhaps disappointed?" she asked.

"Not in the slightest," I replied. "I was hoping you'd forgotten." I reached out for the book. "Did you have something specific in mind today?"

She turned the pages until she found what she was looking for and said, "I was curious about this one, right here."

I took the book from her and scanned the page. I knew this poem. I'd often thought of it when I thought of Christine. It was odd that Vivienne should now be drawn to it. I cleared my throat and began.

"Go, lovely rose!

Tell her that wastes her time and me

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,

That hadst thou sprung

In deserts, where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired;

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

Then die! that she

The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee;

How small a part of time they share

That are so wondrous sweet and fair!"

I finished reading, but I continued to stare down at the printed words. Yes, I was always reminded of Christine when I thought of this poem. I would compare her to a rose, as the poet did, and find her far more beautiful, as the poet did. She was always so innocent, never knowing just how lovely she was and always denying it when I told her, even back when she still thought me an angel. She had always been my ideal, the very image of perfection, the picture of all I longed to be and what I wanted for myself.

"What does it all mean?"

I looked up. Vivienne watched me closely, the ghost of the question still lingering in her eyes. If she was a rose, she would grow wild indeed, untamed and unchecked…given ideal conditions. She just needed the chance to take root and bloom.

"It's more of the love poetry you seem to be so fond of," I told her. "The poet's love is a shy, modest woman. This is his plea to her to let her beauty to be known and to let him admire her, while she still has life in her. It's all very similar to the way a rose blooms. Their beauty is fleeting, and wasted when they go unappreciated. There are few things as tragic as squandered loveliness. Those who possess such loveliness shouldn't take it for granted."

She nodded in understanding, and I was left thinking some more. In the spirit of making new memories, maybe I could consider the poem in a new light. Christine wouldn't bloom for me, but maybe Vivienne could. If she was willing and I was patient, then maybe she could learn to let go of her own painful memories and "suffer herself to be desired." Hell, the both of us knew I already desired her!

There was just one problem. I was still caught up in my painful memories, and so long as something as trivial as a poem reminded me of my pain, I would never be ready to give anyone my heart again.

And just like that, inspiration struck. I could already hear the mournful, plaintive melody in my ears as I handed her the book again and said, "I need to work now, dear girl. Keep yourself entertained and try not to interrupt me for a few hours."

She scurried away and I turned back to the keyboard, striking chords interlaced in sorrow and heartache. My heart grew heavy as I reflected that the music was so familiar to my tortured soul.

I longed to write something hopeful for once.

**I kind of missed adding some poetry, and what can I say about the scene in the bedroom? I love to tease you! :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**I feel bad it's taken so long to get an update posted, but real life and a bad case of writer's block caught up with me. Can you guys forgive me? It'll break my heart if you abandon me just when things start getting good!**

_Vivienne_

As much as I loved Erik's company, I had to admit that I was tired of being cooped up in the house day after day after yet another day of staring at the same walls, the same furnishings, the same scenery. I longed for a breath of fresh air, a glimpse of the sunshine, and a touch of the wind on my face. I couldn't tell Erik this, of course, but I couldn't keep from daydreaming.

He brought back reports of the construction crews at work above us, speaking of them with anger and bitterness. He kept railing about how it wasn't right for them to come back and pick up where everything left off before the fire, like it never happened. I wouldn't have been at all surprised to learn that he was sabotaging the rebuilding, it rankled him so much.

I even went so far as to say it one day. We were in the sitting room after my lesson and after he'd gone wandering the Opera House for several hours. I was curled up on the sofa with my legs tucked beneath me and he was in the chair, his chin resting in his hand as he stared moodily into space.

"Erik," I said, "you're not interfering with the construction, are you?"

His eyes landed on my face. "Now why would you ask me something like that?" he replied sarcastically. "Do you honestly think I would do such a thing?"

"Honestly? Yes. It's just the kind of thing you were known for."

He sighed. "We're not discussing this, Vivienne," he told me.

"But why is it such a bad thing for them to rebuild the Opera?" I insisted. "I've said it before, you should be proud they're not letting it molder and want to bring it back. You've invested your life in this place; why would you want it to stay in ruins?"

"I said we're not discussing this."

I heaved a sigh and leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere up there, there was sunlight, free air, and other people. Erik was excellent company when he chose to be, but still—I was just so _bored!_

"All right, why are you sulking?" he asked.

I looked over at him and said, "I'm not sulking. That's your area of expertise. I was just thinking."

"And what, pray tell, are you thinking of?"

"If you must know, I'm thinking of how bored I am. I'm sorry, Erik, but there's only so long I can stay in one place without losing my mind. Do you think we could…just once…"

"No," he replied. "I'm not taking you out of this house."

"Why not?" I demanded. "Don't you trust me? I didn't try to run away the last time we went anywhere—"

"No, you didn't," he agreed. "You came back and tried to kill yourself."

"For God's sake, Erik!" I snapped. "One bad temper is enough around here. If you just keep me shut up in here for much longer, I'll go crazy!"

"I'm sure we'll survive it," he said dismissively.

"What if I were to just follow you when you leave one of these days?"

"I'd throw you over my shoulder and carry you back here."

"But how would you keep me here? You can't lock me in my room anymore. What would you do then? Chain me up?"

"Don't think I wouldn't," he assured me. It was infuriating! I was getting more and more annoyed, yet still he sat there unruffled and unbothered! That indifference was…just…

I stood up and stormed out of the sitting room, stomping my feet as I went. He called out as I retreated, "Rise above it, little phoenix. Don't let it keep you down."

I slammed my bedroom door, pressed a pillow to my face, and screamed into it. We could play at attraction all we liked, but he was driving me insane! _Why _did he have to be so difficult, _why? _Was it too much to ask to breathe in some clear air once in a while? I threw the pillow to the floor and kicked it across the room. I plopped down and leaned against the side of the bed, still fuming. After everything that had happened, I was still just a prisoner, no matter what he said to the contrary.

I closed my eyes and sighed heavily. He didn't trust me at all, and while I couldn't say it didn't hurt, I also couldn't act like I didn't understand. I picked at my nails, a habit Erik had _almost _cured me of. He was still in straits after Christine, he seemed afraid I would turn out just like her. I had no idea what had happened between them, but it was obviously something tremendous, going beyond crashed chandeliers and missing opera singers. It was no wonder he hadn't recovered from it.

_But I'm not Christine, _I said to myself. _Can't he see that?_

Perhaps he couldn't. Or perhaps he could, but something still remained in the way. I tried so hard to see through his eyes, but my thoughts merely went in circles. He was still that much of an enigma.

The sound of a violin reached out with quivering fingers and touched me where I knelt in the floor. I couldn't decipher the emotion in the music, it was too complex and convoluted. Nevertheless, I felt it tug at me restlessly, stirring me to movement. I could feel it in my limbs, feel them go sinuous and supple. It had been so long since I had danced…

I bent and swayed back and forth to the music, allowing it to fill my mind and body. I slowly got to my feet, the violin echoing around me and inside me. I didn't know what was in me, but I released myself to it and let it move me…just like he was doing in the next room.

It was hard to dance in my heavy skirt and corset, but I didn't pause for reflection. I extended my arms and bent into a _plié, _then moved into _arabesque_ before whirling off into a _pirouette. _I was in my bare feet, unable to go on my toes like every good dancer should, but it didn't matter that much to me. I spun and twirled, moving to the violin and allowing it to guide my steps. I was a little out of practice, but it all came back to me the longer I danced. I felt somehow abandoned, yet safe, in this strange little _pas de deux_, my dancing with Erik's music, an entity unto itself. We were apart, yet connected. Who knew what could happen when we got lost together?

I continued to spin about, eventually closing my eyes peacefully. I forgot everything: the Opera House, my restlessness, even the music. It still reverberated in my mind, but I paid it no attention.

I don't know what it was that made me stop, perhaps the feeling that I was not alone. I came to a halt, looking around my room, and saw Erik standing in the doorway watching me. He raised his hands and applauded. "Brava," he said. "_C'est magnifique."_

My lips curled into a tiny smile and I curtsied in that graceful manner that's inherent to ballerinas but nowhere as easy to perfect as people seem to think. "I didn't know you were watching," I said shyly.

"I didn't want you to know, or you would have stopped," he replied. "You were wasted in the back row, my dear."

"There were better dancers," I insisted. "Taller, more talented, more beautiful—"

He crossed the room and stopped me with a finger pressed to my lips. His eyes glowed warmly as he looked down at me, then he put a hand on my waist and held me close to him. Our free hands met in an instant. I closed my eyes again as we began to move together, stepping and revolving. He led me on again, this time with his movements, and without words or music, we danced there in my room. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik <em>

She was perfect in my arms, her lithe body folded against mine, the scent of her so enticing and the feel of her even more so. She leaned her head against my chest and sighed, and I tightened my hold on her. I'd never really danced with a woman before, but she'd been so lovely as she danced alone I couldn't help but long to be a part of it. I guided our steps, moving us however I saw fit. She settled deeper and deeper into my arms and soon we had stopped moving at all and just stood there, holding each other. I felt something stirring within me, and from her expression of blissful contentment I could tell she did too.

I moved my hand from her waist to the middle of her back, pressing her petite form against me. She didn't resist, she just looked up at me with her emerald eyes shining. Christine's eye had never shone like that, at least never when she looked at me. Was it the lies I'd built between us back then that had done irreparable damage to our chances? I hadn't once lied to the woman I now held, and she was looking at me like that. Maybe that's what was different. I hadn't once pretended to be anything I wasn't with her. And still, she looked at me as if she could see through the mask I wore…

She tilted her face towards mine and I leaned down to her—then stopped. I couldn't kiss her with my mask in place, and I couldn't remove it in front of her. She could see through the mask, but would she be able to see past my face? Would I ever have the courage to give her the chance?

I moved away from her, leaving her standing with her arms still held out to me. "Erik—" she began pleadingly.

"Get ready for dinner," I told her. "And don't ask me again about leaving the house. I'm not letting you leave her again, Vivienne."

"But—"

"It's not open for negotiation. I've said all I'll say about it. I'll come back when it's time to eat."

Why did I keep doing this? Why did it come so easily to hurt myself, and now her? I couldn't even love myself, so what business did I have in romancing this wounded young girl? It wasn't fair to her when I couldn't give her all of myself, and it wasn't fair to me to pretend I could.

Dinner was a somber affair. I ate nothing, as usual, and she barely ate anything. I didn't know what had upset her more, my refusal to let her out or my rejection of her. I had no idea what to say to her and she wouldn't speak, so a silence hung over our heads like that of a graveyard. It was death all around us. We both died a little every time we ran to each other only to run away again.

For the remainder of the night, she stayed in her room and I stayed in mine. I sat staring at nothing, lost in my thoughts, until I'd gone half-insane. It always felt like we moved two steps forward, only to take one step back again. And it seemed I was the one dragging us backwards. I wanted to go forward, I really did, but damn it, I just couldn't forget so easily! I was so afraid of letting go only to find myself in free-fall with nothing to grab onto again. I couldn't even bring myself to let Vivienne leave the house! Terrible things happened when people left. Christine left and she didn't come back. Vivienne had left once before, and she'd nearly died.

No, I couldn't let her leave again. I just couldn't. I hated being so afraid of that little woman and all she meant to me.

There was the smallest knock on my door and Vivienne entered cautiously. She didn't say anything, but came to me where I sat on the bench and took a seat next to me. After several minutes, I wrapped my arm around her and held her to me. We still didn't speak to each other, but I was grateful for her company. I'd been left in my own for so long it was a wonder I really wasn't insane.

We stayed there for a while longer, then I spoke at last. "It's getting late. You should get to bed."

She rose and left, and a few minutes later I followed her with my violin. She had changed into her night gown and stood in the bathroom brushing her hair. I watched her, her auburn mane falling so fluidly down her back, her beautiful hands curled around the silver brush, and I went to her without a sound, taking the brush from her and running my hands through her hair. I saw her pause, then felt her lean back against me again. I put my arm about her waist once more and when she turned her head to look up at me I traced the curve of her lips with my eyes. She trusted me and I still couldn't completely trust her. I was too damaged.

I shrugged and walked away, taking my place on the sofa. I heard her sigh heavily behind me before getting into bed. I began to play, and we didn't exchange another word that night. She fell asleep and I stayed awake watching her for hours before finally succumbing to my own exhaustion.

**Tell me I didn't let you down, or I'll have to kick myself very very hard. :)**

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	17. Chapter 17

**Here we go! For those of you who might think it's time to shake things up a bit, let's see how this works! :)**

_Vivienne_

Erik was good to me, but possessive. That's was it boiled down to, after all. He wouldn't let me leave the house because I was his to do with what he liked, and I needed to learn my place and do what was expected of me, and be content to stay put.

Well, those were the thoughts racing through my head over the next few days. Every time he left to stalk the construction going on above us, I was left behind to stew in my restlessness. I practiced a little on his violin, tried to read, even danced some more in my room, but it just wasn't good enough! I wanted the freedom to go where I wanted without any constraints! I didn't even want to go that far, for God's sake! I didn't say a word to him about it, but I knew he could tell from my sulking that it was heavily on my mind.

In the middle of my violin lesson five days after I first brought it up, I set the instrument down halfway through the piece I'd been playing. He looked at me sharply and asked, "What are you doing? You're supposed to be playing, Vivienne, not moping."

"Well, if I'm moping, I think I have good reason to," I retorted. "All I do is play, or listen to you play, or find something to keep myself from going insane down here."

"And it's preferable to go insane, all of a sudden?" he questioned, frowning slightly.

"If I'm insane, I'm sure I can invent some delusion that keeps me entertained," I told him. "As it is—"

"Here we are again," he sighed. "I'm not taking you out of this house, Vivienne. I thought I'd made that clear."

"Not clear enough. You still haven't given me a good enough reason why."

"Because I said so, that's why."

"And you think that's good enough?" I demanded. "I'm not a child to be ordered around, and you can't play the 'prisoner and jailer' card on me anymore. You can't just tell me what to do and expect me to go along with it!"

"Don't try me, Vivienne," he warned. "I've already said we're not discussing this. Now play."

I changed my grip on the violin, but I didn't play. "I'm not your puppet," I said. "You can't do whatever you want to with me."

"Clearly," he snapped. "If I could, I'd have gagged you long ago and been done with it."

I gave a great huff of indignation, put the violin aside, and went to my room. He didn't do a thing to stop me; we both knew I'd just go back to finish the lesson when I was bored enough, no matter how annoyed I was with him. And we both knew that would hardly be the end of the issue, but he had no idea what I was thinking of.

The next day I was in the sitting room, curled up on the sofa, when he passed by, saying a few words about going up to the theater. I hummed disinterestedly in reply, then waited until I couldn't hear him any more in the silence of the house. I sat still for several more minutes for good measure, then rose, put on the shoes I'd left ready in my room, and set off through the house.

I'd watched him closely and covertly over the past few days, and the door out of the house worked in much the same manner as my bedroom door. It was at the end of a hallway, disguised as part of the wall, and I'd found the black nail that opened it after some searching. I pressed my thumb to the nail now and the wall swung open onto the dark, dank cellars. After a brief moment of consideration, I got a candle from the sitting room, then left the house.

My little candle didn't do much to light the way. Outside the sphere of illumination the flame provided, there was nothing but vast blackness, and I felt the weight of it pressing down on me. I had a sudden urge to run back to the house and abandon this fool's errand, but my stubborn streak held me in place and I continued on.

I came to the edge of the lake I'd heard tell of, but I didn't dare try to cross it. I couldn't swim, for one thing, and the water looked so sinister as I peered through the gloom around me. I wandered along its shore for what felt like hours before I finally chanced upon another passage leading away from it, and I set off up the dark tunnel. It occurred to me as I stumbled along that it would be so easy to get lost down here, to be lost forever, to wander the catacombs until my candle burned out and left me in the dark, until I starved to death, until I met upon a terrible accident, until I was captured by the Phantom—

_No, you silly thing, _I told myself. _If you got lost and met Erik down here, it would be the best thing that ever happened to you. Why did you leave the house in the first place if you were so worried about getting lost? You should have thought of that before! _

Still, I couldn't keep from jumping at small noises and wishing with all my heart that I could find a way out of this—

At last! A light! I rushed towards it and came to the end of the tunnel. There was a panel dividing me from the light beyond; I slid it open and emerged in one of the cellars directly below the stage. We ballet girls had often taken dares to come down here and search for the Opera Ghost, and if he ever saw us at it, I'm sure he laughed at the sight of the pack of giddy females hiding our fears behind giggles and taunts, still clad in our tights and slippers.

I left the panel in the wall open so I could find it again and set off through the cellar. Above my head, I could hear the sounds of the workers busy rebuilding the theater. The echo of their hammers and the distant rumble of their voices led me out of the cellar, and I slipped off into the wings backstage. Keeping to the shadows, I watched the men pass by, rough-looking men carrying tools and working to clear out everything that had been damaged by the fire.

I wanted to see the sky and taste some fresh air for once; I moved away and headed for the roof. The blackened walls of the corridors absorbed all the light once more and I could hear the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. The smell of charred wood burned my nostrils and choked me as I approached the first set of stairs to the roof—

A hand seized me by the wrist and snatched me away, dragging me deeper into shadow. Before I could scream, another hand was pressed to my mouth, stifling my noise. I knew an overwhelming sense of terror and I lashed out in fear, trying to free myself. I kicked and thrashed, striking out with my free hand and my captor struggled with me, grabbing me by the neck and tightening the grip of his fingers.

Before I could register any surprise, I went limp and blacked out.

When I came to, I was back in the sitting room under the Opera House, lying on the sofa in front of the fire. I sat up slowly, trying to figure out how I got there. Was that Erik who'd caught me? Where was he?

I stood and walked towards the hall but came up short. There was something around my ankle holding me back, something heavy and unyielding. I looked down and my eyes widened in shock and anger. I was wearing an iron shackle, ending in a chain that was fixed firmly to the leg of the sofa. I tugged fruitlessly on the chain, but it was padlocked in place. I tried to lift the corner of the sofa to pull the chain off the leg, but it was too big and too heavy and just wouldn't budge.

"Erik!" I shouted. "Where are you?"

Down the hall, I heard the violin; he _was _here, he was just ignoring me. I tried again. "Erik! Get in here!"

Oh, I could just imagine him sitting there, the violin on his shoulder, listening to me yell and scream at him and pretending he couldn't hear me while I was chained up on my own. "What is wrong with you?" I raged, yanking on the chain again without any conviction I could get free. "Come here right now and let me go!"

The violin fell quiet and for a second I thought he was coming, but then the sounds of the organ rose up to meet me.

That bastard!

I seized a nearby candelabrum and threw it across the room. The unlit candles fell out and rolled across the floor while the silver holder bounced off the bookshelves and fell to join the candles with a clang. I snatched an oil lamp and threw that too. The glass shattered and the oil spilled everywhere, staining the carpet. Whatever I could lay hands on, I destroyed, letting my rage erupt at last. I could hear Erik banging away in the next room, still at the organ and still ignoring me, playing louder to drown out my noise.

_Well, it's preferable to slitting my wrists again, isn't it? _I asked him as I screamed and stormed, ripping open one of the pillows on the sofa and scattering feathers everywhere. Damn him! Damn that arrogant, supercilious, obnoxious, insufferable, appalling man!

I aimed a kick at the leg of the sofa—in my bare feet. The pain in my foot when it connected brought tears to my eyes and I threw myself down sobbing in a temper. Of all the stupid things to happen! How in the name of all that was holy did I get stuck here in the cesspool of the universe with the goddamned Opera Ghost?

"Are you finished having your tantrum now?"

I looked up at the mocking comment and saw Erik standing in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes alight with jeering amusement.

"Who's having the tantrum?" I demanded, grabbing the chain and shaking it. "Get this off me, now!"

"No," he replied. "You'll try to escape again."

"I wasn't trying to escape, Erik!" I shouted. "I just wanted to go outside! I wasn't even leaving the Opera House! Take this thing off this instant!"

"As perfectly seductive as you are when you're angry," he said, "I'm not letting you go. I warned you what I would do if you tried to leave."

I leaped to my feet and lunged toward him but fell back to the floor as I reached the end of the chain. He took a step closer to me, yet kept just out of my reach. "When you accept that I'm the authority in my own house and start doing as you're told, I'll consider letting you loose."

"You son of a bitch!" I screamed at him.

"By all means, my dear, keep swearing and shouting like that," he told me. "It's accomplishing nothing but making me want you even more."

"You'd better not think of touching me except to get this shackle off me!" I spat.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied. "You ought to know me that well by now. Besides, I have the suspicion that if I came anywhere near you right now, you'd scratch my eyes out."

"Why are you doing this to me?" I cried. "I just wanted a moment of freedom; does that deserve being chained up like this?"

"Trust me, dear Vivienne," he said, "this is nothing compared to what the rest of humanity is capable of. Consider yourself lucky I haven't done worse."

"Worse? I thought I ought to know you well enough to know better by now. At least, I know you well enough to know you're a lot of talk and not much action."

"If such thinking keeps you warm at night, I'll leave you to it," he snapped, no longer amused. "Don't forget, silly girl, not all of those stories of the Phantom were just stories." He turned to leave the room again.

"Hiding behind the all-powerful Phantom again, are you?" I taunted at his back. "Damn you, you coward!"

He stopped in his tracks and spun to face me again, his yellow eyes practically shooting fire.

* * *

><p><em>Erik <em>

Coward, she called me?

I started towards her, losing patience with her at last. She got to her feet again, but by God, she'd cower at my feet by the time I was finished with her. Then we'd see who the coward among us was.

"Shall I show you what a coward really is?" I asked her. "Do you want to see at last just how much of a coward I am? Do you really want to see, Vivienne?"

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"I'm talking about this," I told her, gesturing at my mask. "I'm talking about what _really _hides behind the all-powerful Phantom. Do you want to see?"

"You mean—your face?" she asked.

"Of course, my darling," I replied, letting my voice adopt its more sinister quality. "Only a coward would hide from it, don't you think? Why should I flee from what I am? Why should you?"

She took a step back, the anger fading from her eyes. "I—don't think you're a coward, Erik," she said. "I shouldn't have said that—"

"But it's only the truth," I insisted, closing the distance between us again. "It's low and cowardly to hide that thing one is most ashamed of, wouldn't you say? I think it's time for me to be brave, don't you? Or perhaps you'd like to do the honors?" I offered, taking her hand and pressing it to my mask. "Go on, Vivienne, show me how brave you are. Take it off, don't be a coward now."

She stood there, frozen with her palm still against my mask, her eyes locked on mine and filled with doubt. "Come now," I urged. "Don't dawdle, just take it off and have a look."

She wrenched her hand out of my grasp and backed away.

I laughed. "You little hypocrite. You're just like her."

"I am nothing like her," she replied, her voice shaking.

"Then why do you turn from me, like the coward you just called me?" I jeered. "You're a selfish, foolish, weak little girl, just like Christine."

"I didn't turn from you," she told me, "but I won't let you use whatever is wrong with your face against me."

"But what's wrong with my face?" I demanded. "Do you really think I'm such a monster beneath this mask?"

"I think you're acting like one again," she said. The spark of defiance returned to her eyes as she steadied herself to fight back, and I didn't know whether I admired her courage or hated her boldness. "It was monstrous and cowardly of you to force that upon me, to make it my decision to take off your mask. You knew I would never have done it, or you wouldn't have taunted me. You just wanted an excuse to keep hiding."

"Excuse? I don't need more of an excuse than what's already been given to me! You can claim to want to know the real Erik as much as you like, but you still don't want to see the worst of me, fraud that you are."

"Don't you call me a fraud!" she burst out. "I've never once pretended to be anything other than me! You're the one with the Ghost persona! You're the hypocrite!"

I reached my hands out to her, but drew them back at once, balling them into fists. With all the crimes I'd committed, I'd never once hit a woman, and I wasn't going to start now. I gritted my teeth and asked her, "Then why didn't you take off my mask? Come on, now," I grabbed her hand again and held it to the hateful barrier I was forced to shelter behind. "Take it off! I want you to! I want you to see!"

"No, Erik," she replied.

"Why not?" I demanded. "Do it! Now! Don't make me beg you, you stubborn brat! Please, just look at me!"

"No."

I shifted my grip from her hand to her wrist and yanked her to me. "Why not?" I shouted. "That's what everyone else has done! They all wanted to see me, then they were all too eager to run away from me! You wanted to leave, and I want you to have a reason to!"

"I didn't want to leave you," she insisted, but I overrode her. "You will soon enough! Just take off my mask and see for yourself!"

"I don't want to!"

I seized her by the shoulders and shook her. "Why not?"

"Because it's not my place to expose you like that!"

I stopped, stunned. "What do you mean?" I asked. "Tell me!"

"It hurts you to think I might hate you for what you look like," she said, "like everyone else has done your whole life. It's brought you so much pain to let anyone see you, and I don't want to do that to you. And I don't want you to show me, either."

"Why?" I urged harshly, needing to know.

"You're angry and upset," she replied, trembling slightly. "When you decide to show me your face, I want it to be because you really want me to see, and not because you're trying to prove something or because you want to teach me a lesson. I want it to be your decision, Erik, like it should always have been. No one has the right to take that from you, no one. Trust me, I know."

I stood staring at her, lost for words. It wasn't at all what I'd expected to hear; truth be told I had no idea what I'd expected to hear, but it definitely wasn't that. She knew…she understood…

I let go of her and took the key to the shackle from my pocket. I knelt down and took the iron cuff off of her, granting her bare leg a brief caress before shoving her away from me. "Go," I said. "Go wherever you like. You know the way out; take whatever you want with you. You don't have to stay here if you don't want to."

She paused, unmoving. "I—I don't understand," she said.

"You're free!" I told her. "Leave! You wanted your freedom, now take it!"

"But—"

"Go!" I shouted at her. "Just get out of my sight!"

She stood there on tenterhooks another moment, then turned and left the room in a whirl of blue silk and red tresses. I watched her go, enraged and in agony without really knowing why. Unable to contain it any longer, I started pulling books off the shelves and throwing them, adding paper and leather bindings to the glass and feathers already littering the floor. I bellowed wordlessly from the depths of my soul, trapped by what I was, what I wanted, and what I was unable to accept. That girl was the first I'd met who'd shown me any kind of understanding bound in empathy, not pity, and I could hardly stand to look at her.

I fell to my knees, choking on sudden tears of frustration. I couldn't catch my breath, my vision was blurred, and the pain in my heart was so unbearable I wished I could carve it out and fling it from me.

I sensed movement nearby, and felt a gentle touch on my shoulder. I knew without looking that it was her. I reached out and clasped her to me, holding her tightly. I continued to sob into her shoulder and she wrapped her arms around me, kissing my face over and over again. She didn't speak, and I couldn't speak, but I knew she wasn't going anywhere no matter how I stormed and raged at her and for that, I was more grateful than any words could say.

**No, they're not quite _there _yet, but at least they understand each other now, eh? ;)**

**Leave me some love!**

**P.S. For any fellow fic writers, I've started a new feature on my blog where I promote you clever fellows! Talk to me if you're interested!**

**Angels  
><strong>


	18. Chapter 18

**I hear what you're saying about confli****ct carrying over, Thirteeny, but this update was already written, so...Don't worry, though, there's still a lot of drama to come!**

**Now I just wonder what you guys will think of this. *starts chewing nails*  
><strong>

_Vivienne_

We didn't say much for the rest of the night, and we didn't leave the sitting room at all. We stayed there on the floor holding each other for the longest time, and I don't know which of us fell asleep first, but neither of us went to bed that night. When I opened my eyes in the morning, he was still lying next to me, his face set peacefully. I reached out carefully and caressed his features with my fingertips. We hadn't shared more than that one kiss in my bedroom, but I considered this the most intimate moment we'd had so far.

I rolled onto my side and felt something sharp press into my cheek. With a soft intake of breath, I raised my hand to my face and looked down at the carpet. How foolish of us; we'd just spent the night in the middle of the debris of our shared outbursts. I'd rolled straight onto a shard of glass from the lamp I'd smashed.

Blood flowed beneath my fingers as I got to my feet and went to my bathroom. I held a cloth to my cheek and cursed my lack of mirror again. Erik still hadn't replaced the one I'd broken, and considering the use I'd put the first one to, I couldn't say he didn't have his reasons. How bad was the cut? How deep? It hurt a lot!

"What happened?"

I turned to see him standing in the doorway and showed him the blood. "I cut myself on a piece of glass," I replied. "I guess I shouldn't have broken that lamp after all."

"You have a remarkable gift for injuring yourself with broken glass," he remarked, coming to stand in front of me. "Let me see it."

I tilted my face up to him and he cupped my chin, examining the cut. "How bad is it?" I asked.

"Not too bad," he told me. "I daresay you'll survive it. Go sit down and I'll take care of it for you."

I went back into my bedroom and sat on the sofa waiting. He returned to me with some warm water and a clean rag, and he gently bathed the cut. Then he dabbed something from a tiny green bottle I'd seen in the cupboard on it and I winced; it stung worse than the cut itself. "That hurts," I said.

"It's supposed to," he replied. "Now hold still and let me finish, please?"

I sighed. The sting was already reduced to a not-unpleasant tingle and his touch was just as astonishing as I remembered it, and I found myself wishing for more. "Erik?"

"Yes, Vivienne?"

I paused, then said, "Touch me."

"I _am_ touching you, little phoenix."

"No, I mean…_touch _me."

He went still and looked into my eyes. I held his gaze, feeling the heat of it and refusing to shrink back from it. He took his hand away from my face and asked, "How? Where?"

The question sent a shiver down my spine and I closed my eyes for a second as I drank in the sound of his voice. "It doesn't matter," I told him. "Please…"

For a moment he did nothing, then he raised his hands and ran his fingers through my hair, pulling me closer to him. I breathed deeply as he stroked my face, letting his hands meander down my throat and prompting the most sensual response in the fire of my blood and the pit of my belly. He caressed the skin left bare above the neck of my gown and gently dipped me back, laying his unmasked cheek against my chest. I tried to control the sensations flooding my mind and body as I heard him say, "Your heart is racing, _mon petite feu_. I can hear it."

I couldn't reply. This awareness in the forefront of my consciousness was new and unknown to me, and I didn't know what to say or do in the face of it.

He ran a hand down my side, along my ribs and over my waist and hip. He drew me even closer and reached for the hem of my skirt. I didn't like wearing stockings and hadn't worn them since staying with Erik, and I couldn't feel immodest or embarrassed when he stroked my bare calf beneath my petticoat. I felt his touch on my thigh through the fabric of my pantaloons, then reaching for the waistband.

I stiffened in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just going to touch you, nothing more," he murmured. "I won't hurt you, I promise. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

He looked into my eyes again and asked, "Will you let me touch you?"

I paused, slightly frightened but unable to resist that hypnotic voice or go against these newly awakened instincts, and I nodded.

He gently drew down the undergarments I wore and I lifted my hips so he could take them off entirely. There was a tiny voice in my head screaming out to run away, that the last time I'd been anywhere like this it had been so awful, but everything else said that this was different, this wasn't like the last time.

This was Erik.

He caressed my leg again, then nudged my thighs apart. "Relax," he whispered, and then he touched me.

I gasped softly. His natural chill was already lost as he took on the warmth of my own body, or was it that I was already so on fire I could no longer feel the coolness of him? He was tender but purposeful as he worked to bring me to an end…what end, I had no idea. "Am I hurting you?" he asked.

My response was to press nearer to him, feeling something rise within me. He laid reverent kisses along the slope of my neck as best he could while wearing his mask, and I could feel its edge against my skin. "Just relax," he repeated, and I had to close my eyes as he continued on in his ministrations. My body shuddered at the tension building in me and I began to tremble. What was happening to me?

I let out a strangled moan, hardly able to bear it any more. "Erik…" I grasped the lapel of his jacket in my fist. "Erik!"

"Let it go, Vivienne," he urged me. "Just let it go."

His voice was enough, and I gave in.

Oh, God.

I felt as if I was falling and flying all at once. Wondrous release rushed through me and I couldn't contain a wild cry, hardly recognizing my voice as my own. I arched my body against him and still he touched me, still he kissed me, and I never wanted him to stop. I didn't know what this was, but I didn't want to let it go.

The sensations faded and I fell back onto the sofa, feeling half-alive yet strangely more complete than I'd ever been in my life. He stroked my thigh one last time, then took his hand away. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

I reached up and drew him down to me, kissing his cheek rapturously even as I continued to tremble. "Stay here," I begged. "Just stay with me, please."

He didn't question me or say anything at all, but he lay there with me and held me in his arms for what felt like hours before I finally drifted off into the sweetest of dreams. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I waited until I was sure she was sleeping, then I rose and left her room, pondering what had happened. My hands shook and my blood seared me at the mere memory.

Thinking I might put the sitting room to rights again, I returned to it and began to gather the discarded, abused books. Loose pages fluttered around the room and I scooped them up and set them aside, putting the books themselves back on the shelves at random, too preoccupied to notice what I was doing. I replaced the fallen candles and cleared away the glass and feathers before sinking into my chair with a heavy sigh.

She had wanted me to touch her. She had asked me to, _ordered _me to. I'd been so unsure, half-terrified yet filled with wanting at the same time. I'd felt her shiver and heard her sigh, the beating of her heart driving me wild, and I'd wanted to do more than touch her. I'd wanted to please her, more than anything in the world. And she'd trusted me with her body, believing I wouldn't lay a hand on her to harm her, and at my encouragement she'd lost herself to her ecstasy.

I shot to my feet again and began to move about restlessly. Her expression of fulfillment, her cry of surrender, had blinded me with my own desire and damn it all to Hell, I'd wanted so badly to follow her over the edge and find my own fulfillment, to push her even farther and take my pleasure from her. The need in me was too great to ignore, but then she'd kissed me and held me to her again, and I couldn't force myself upon her, not when she was still…

Oh sweet Lord, I was in serious trouble.

What was wrong with me? Not twenty-four hours ago I was screaming at her to see me for the monster I was! I was on my knees sobbing out my misery! I'd done what I could to push her away but she'd resisted, staying with me and allowing my hands upon her! What kind of bitter irony was it that I spent my life yearning for someone to understand me, and then when someone finally did I felt worthless and unworthy?

I closed my eyes, falling back into the memory of her, seeing the light dancing in her eyes and feeling her body beneath my hands again. Needless to say, no woman had ever permitted me as she had, looking as I did. But Vivienne, my Vivienne, had never even seen my face. She knew I was disfigured, but she'd never laid eyes on what was behind my mask. What would she do when she finally saw? Would she be disgusted that I'd touched her, or furious with herself that she'd let me? What if she really did decide to leave me, then?

There was no doubt in my mind that it would kill me. It would destroy me entirely to hold my dreams so close only to have them snatched away again after everything.

I couldn't stand not knowing, and there was nothing I feared more than knowledge.

I spent the day in my room with my violin, playing softly so as not to wake her. How would we behave with each other now? Would she regret what had happened? I didn't think I could stand that, and I was almost reluctant to face her again.

But face her I must. She wandered into my room hours later, her hair tousled and her dress rumpled. Our eyes met and I held my breath

She smiled, slowly at first, but then more and more confidently, if still a bit shyly. She came to stand next to me and kissed me on the cheek.

I cleared my throat loudly and stared down at the floor.

"Have you ever—done anything like that before?" she asked.

"Do you even have to ask?" I replied. "Did I—please you?"

"Do _you _even have to ask?"

I smiled slightly myself. She sounded so much the woman, but still so innocent. After what she'd gone through, I was so afraid she'd despise me for what I did, but it seemed my fears were groundless.

"If you've never done that before," she went on, "then…where did you learn that?"

I looked up at her. She was blushing, but still looked me in the eye. Where indeed? "I…read extensively," I said. "There's really no kind of book I don't read, and I've acquired some…informative texts, I suppose."

"Are any of these 'informative texts' in the sitting room right this minute?"

I groaned slightly. I didn't need her raiding the shelves for any of _those _books.

"Regardless," she said, "I—well—thank you, Erik."

"For what?" I asked anxiously.

She shuffled her feet awkwardly. "For what you did," she told me. "And I don't just mean for what you _did_—"

"No, I understand," I said.

"For being so understanding," she finished. "For not taking it further. I just…I don't think I would have been ready for that. At least, not yet."

I nodded, my insides twisting themselves into knots. "I know," I told her. "And I didn't want to rush you, but I thought that's what you wanted—"

"I did," she insisted, blushing even more. "I did want it."

"Well then," I said. "I guess…I guess that's settled then."

"Yes," she agreed.

There was a rather uncomfortable silence for several long minutes, then I handed her the violin. "It's time for your lesson," I said half-heartedly.

She took it, as grateful as I was for some return to something familiar to the both of us. I watched her as she began to play, hardly able to look away from her now. It would be easy to fall under the illusion that this was a perfect thing between us, but I'd grown leery of illusions after the illusion of a certain Angel. We'd both have to face the truth eventually.

For now, though, I was content to listen to her play.

**Oh Lord, I tried not to be too explicit, given the teen rating on this, but it's just how the story moved. Out of the pair of them, I figured it would be Vivienne to initiate the whole thing since Erik's an idiot like that, and I wanted to balance it out with Erik being so mixed up about it-**

**I just realized I'm rambling. Please tell me what you think, okay?**


	19. Chapter 19

**Uh...g****uys? You still there? I hope I haven't scared you off!**

**If things have been moving too slow for your tastes, rest assured. From this chapter on, we're going to be hauling it and we're not making any pit stops.**

**If you were put off by the content in the last chapter, sorry I offended you, and in my defense I've seen worse in YA and teen-rated stories.**

**If you merely haven't been able to drop in and say hi, then disregard all this baloney and welcome back! :)**

**You guys still trust me, though, right?  
><strong>

_Vivienne_

If he could see through my calm demeanor, he didn't let on. And if he was only pretending to be as calm as he was, I could hardly tell. Once or twice I thought I could see his hands twitch nervously, but otherwise he betrayed nothing. Whether I was so successful at hiding everything I was hiding, I had no clue.

The lesson was one of the most memorable we'd ever had, and not because it was particularly eventful in any way whatsoever, but because nothing seemed to happen yet carried more with it than anything in the world. It took all of my concentration to keep my mind in the present and resist the temptation to wander back to…that. I almost lost the fight once. My posture had grown rigid again as I strove to focus on the music and Erik instructed for the hundredth time since our lessons started, "Don't sit so stiff. Relax."

I jumped slightly and the bow skipped on the strings. How was I supposed to relax when the mere word made me burn all over again? Hoping he didn't notice, I continued playing as if I'd never made a mistake. He gave me a sideways look, but he ignored the misstep. I swallowed anxiously and carried on.

What I couldn't ignore was this fire within me; it wasn't the desire I'd felt earlier that had stolen all thought with it, but something…different. This was somehow more intense, more consuming, at once more extraordinary and more terrifying than anything I'd ever felt or even imagined. What was it? I hadn't even seen it out of the corner of my eye, but it hadn't suddenly flared to life as that longing had. Rather, it seemed to have been lurking out of sight, waiting for the chance to make its presence known and taking that very chance when I'd asked Erik to put his hands on me.

What was it?

He called a halt to our lesson and I automatically went to the sitting room in search of a book for our customary reading. I pulled down one volume after the next, riffling through the leaves for something eye-catching, when I caught sight of a certain book. It wasn't terribly large, but it held my attention as I took in the many illuminations scattered throughout it. One picture in particular struck me, one of a tree and a curiously multihued cat—a tiger, I realized. I looked closer; it almost seemed to be smiling at me.

My eyes scanned the text on the page as I wandered around the room, taking in the words and puzzling their meaning. I didn't notice when Erik appeared next to me; he just was there. I held out the book and he took it from me, gesturing for me to sit down.

I claimed my usual place on the sofa and he lowered himself into the chair. "I've often given this one serious thought," he told me.

"I thought you didn't read this fluff," I said.

"I would hardly consider this 'fluff,' Vivienne," he replied, then he began to read.

"Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand, and what dread feet?"

He pulled me in with his voice as always, commanding me to listen and compelling me to understand in ways few people ever dared to. I felt a touch of dread at the words, but an overwhelming sense of awe as well. I could do nothing but sit there motionless, drowning in the spell of his voice.

"What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And water'd heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?"

We sat in silence for several minutes after he finished reading. It was as though a blanket had been thrown over us, smothering everything and even cutting us off from each other. I could tell he was lost in his own thoughts, and as for myself, I could hear the echoes of his words in my mind. They pushed and tugged at me for no apparent reason, but they were so persistent I had to wonder if there was something in them.

_Erik would understand it perfectly, _I thought ruefully, feeling dim and stupid as I tried to find the meaning of the poem. It was simple enough, but…

I could see in my mind's eye that almost-smiling tiger again, that wonderful yet fearsome creation, as deadly as it was miraculous. It was mocking me, I was certain of that, but why? Did it know something I didn't?

Erik closed the book again and rose, replacing it on the shelf and standing there with his back to me. I watched him for a minute or two, wondering why he was suddenly so pensive and eventually answering my own question. Something had changed between us…again. We couldn't erase what had happened in my room and I couldn't ignore what had come into being in my mind. It wasn't mere attraction, and even after that blissful moment in my room when Erik had taken me so high with just one caress, it wasn't entirely physical either. I wanted him more than ever, but I wanted even more than that.

I watched him, the fabled Phantom brought to life before me. He wasn't just the Phantom, I knew that now. The Phantom was his legend, yes, but there was more than that to him. He made me think of that poem he'd just read, filling me with dread, awe, and wonder. But what dread? I wasn't afraid of him anymore, but there was something at the fringe of my mind that just seemed…alarming.

"I—I think I'm going to—go lie down," I stammered out loud. "I'm just—I'm tired."

"Of course," he replied, still not looking at me. "Go rest if that's what you need."

I stood and went to my room, curling into a ball on my bed and losing myself in my thoughts at last.

What was this I was feeling? It was easy enough to name desire after the fact; what else could that have been? But this new thing wasn't just an instinctual urge. This was more of a desperate…yearning, perhaps? I had the sudden sense that there was a part of me that was no longer with me, that I had lost it—or given it away…

How long had I been here with him? How well did we know each other, really? Not so well, maybe, because how well could you truly know a person after knowing them only a few months? And yet, I couldn't help but think that I knew him better than I realized. We had similar, if clashing, personalities, and we saw eye to eye when we weren't at odds. We'd had similar experiences and even had something of a history, having both been part of the Opera for years. But most importantly, we seemed to understand each other so well, better than one could expect to understand someone who was still so much of a stranger.

I didn't know what to think. There hadn't been a single thing I could say about our time together that could be called ordinary, and the possibility in my mind was anything but ordinary. It was…it was…

I needed to think. And then, I needed to talk to Erik.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

Christ Almighty, I was ten seconds away from beating my head against a wall! All through the lesson I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd love to snatch that damned violin out of her hands and take her to my bed, and even as she sat there on the sofa listening to me read to her it was so hard to resist the urge to throw her down and have her then and there. But how could I do that in good conscience after she'd just told me she wasn't ready for that? Damn it!

I stayed by the bookshelf long after I'd heard her close her bedroom door, trying to master myself. I shouldn't have given in to her and put my hands on her, no matter how good it was to know that I could give her pleasure like that. It was just making everything so much harder! What was complicated before was now impossible!

My hands shook and my body begged for release. I went into my own room, hoping she would keep to herself for the time being. I'd seen to her needs, and now I had to attend to my own.

But even release didn't bring the relief I sought; I relentlessly paced my room afterward. My thoughts were agitated, and I kept coming back to that poem.

She was still my little phoenix, but she was very much like a tigress herself. How could such a creature have been brought to life, let alone be here with me? She didn't even realize just how intimidating she was, with the power she held over me. What God in what Heaven had dared to seize the fires of creation and shape them into that beautiful, terrible woman in the next room? And by the same token, what God in what Heaven had seen fit to create the beast that I was, to try and cage that tigress? He must have a strange sense of humor, to cross our paths like that. I was a selfish, possessive man, and she would never be any man's possession. It wasn't just that I'd learned I couldn't dominate a woman's heart with Christine; with Vivienne, I supposed I'd always known it would be senseless to try.

But that was the very problem. I couldn't just take her heart, and I wanted it. I wanted to know that I already had it. And at the same time, I was fearful of having it. I couldn't be trusted to look after my own heart after all this time, so I was hardly a fit guardian for another's. And who was I in the first place to even think I could ever have someone's love and affection? I destroyed all I touched. I twisted and corrupted the goodness around me until it was as dark and unwholesome as I. The only good thing I was allowed was my music and even that had become a poison, so steeped in pain as it was. I feared what would happen to that fire I so cherished in her if she allowed me to tend it.

I sat down to the organ and stared at the keys. They had the power to conjure melodies of hope, love, and joy, and all I could manage to create with them was misery and despair. The last thing I needed power over was someone's heart. It was doubtless I would burn it to ash and dust.

_But she is already fire incarnate, _I reasoned. _Surely I could never harm her. _

But hadn't I already harmed her by keeping her here? It was under my care she had tried to kill herself, after all. She blamed me for what had befallen her family as a result of my actions years ago when I had been so sure that Christine could cope with the madness I could give her and dared to christen love.

_But I can give her everything she could ever ask for, _I argued. _She would never want for anything with me. _

Wrong again. She had wanted daylight, and all I could offer her was the darkness of an Opera cellar. She wanted freedom, and I offered her a prison. I could try to give her the best of myself, but she deserved someone whole and undamaged, and I hardly fit that criteria.

_She can see past…everything that I am, _I told myself. _If I gave her the chance, I'm sure she could accept me, _all _of me._

I sighed and stroked the ivory keys in front of me. I could never be sure of that, and I couldn't even be sure I would ever be able to bring myself to show her all that I really was. I couldn't even pretend it was just my face she would have to accept. I had threatened her with my reputation often enough, and it wasn't a reputation that was entirely undeserved. I was a terrible person. I lied and cheated and used intimidation and force to get what I wanted. I had killed without turning a hair, often for no greater crime than someone causing me some small inconvenience. I hid in the bowels of the earth, as close to Hell as I could get, hiding from whatever God might exist to punish me.

_I've been punished enough. Don't I deserve at least one chance for some real happiness?_

I got to my feet and crept from the room, going down the hall to Vivienne's door. I listened closely, and when I heard no movement beyond I went inside.

She lay curled up on her bed, fast asleep, her fiery hair spilling down over her face. The sound of her breathing was calm and peaceful, so I knew there were no nightmares disturbing her.

I hesitated, then crossed the room to stand at her bedside. She didn't stir, so I removed my mask. _There, _I said to myself. _It's not so hard. You can do it; you can let her see. _

But she was asleep and completely unaware that I stood before her with nothing but air between us, no mask and no illusions. When she really saw, she wouldn't react so tranquilly.

I bent over her, brushed her hair aside, and kissed her on the forehead. Then I sadly replaced my mask and left her room.

I was working on my music again when she returned to my room several hours later. She looked anxious; she kept wringing her hands and shifting her weight from one foot to the next. "Erik, I—I need to talk to you," she said.

"Then sit down and we'll talk," I told her, gesturing to my bed and turning back to the keyboard.

"Please," she said, "I need you to listen."

"You have my undivided attention," I assured her.

"Then would you look at me?"

I paused, then regarded her more closely. She wasn't just anxious, she was nearly frantic. She was even tenser than she'd been that first time she'd gotten out of bed after she'd cut her wrists when she confronted me about our attraction.

Wait a minute…

"This is going to sound insane—" she began.

"I'm no stranger to insanity, my dear," I said.

"It won't make any sense—"

"I've heard enough nonsense in my day to believe anything."

"Erik, please stop interrupting me," she begged.

My mouth had gone dry. What did she mean to say that had her so tightly wound? I couldn't explain the ominous premonition on my heart, but I felt the furious need to keep her from saying whatever it was she'd come to say.

"I know I've only known you for only a few months now," she went on, "but in those few months something has happened to me, Erik. I came here and I was—a wreck. I was afraid and lonely and everything felt so hopeless, and now—"

"Vivienne," I started.

"No, I have to finish," she said. "Something happened earlier in my room, and it was more than just—I mean, it brought something to my attention."

"It's quite overwhelming when you experience desire for the first time," I said.

"No! It was more than that! Erik, I don't know how this happened so fast, or at all, really, but I—"

"Stop," I told her. "Vivienne, don't—"

"I have to say it," she insisted. "I know it's a lot to take in, and it was a lot for me to accept as well, but Erik—"

"Don't say it!" I begged. "Vivienne, please—"

"I love you."

**OMG! **

**How am I doing, peeps? You're scaring me a little...**


	20. Chapter 20

**Well, you guys certainly made you****rselves known after that last update! I figured there was no sense in taunting you too much, so here's the next chapter. Have a party. ;)**

_Vivienne_

I'll never forget for as long as I live the expression in his eyes when he heard me say the words. On our first meeting he'd threatened me with death, but now he was as shocked and terrified as if I'd run him through with a broadsword. I took a hesitant step towards him and he shrank away from me. "Won't you say something?" I asked.

"What do you want me to say?" he countered. "Vivienne, you—you don't know what you're saying. You don't even know me."

"I want to," I insisted. "I want to know you, Erik."

"You can't possibly know what you want," he told me. "You're only nineteen years old—"

"I thought I was ageless," I challenged.

"I'm too old for you—"

"My father was twenty-three years older than my mother when they married," I said. "It doesn't matter to me—"

"You're still just a child—"

"Is that what you were thinking when you put your hands on me?" I demanded.

"Damn it, woman, you wanted me to!" he exclaimed. "You told me to touch you!"

"You didn't have to go along with it. I wasn't such a child to you then, now, was I?"

I saw him close his eyes and clench his fists, and maybe even a slight shiver racked his lean frame, but his voice was bitter when he spoke. "No, I didn't have to," he said, "and yet I did, and I even wanted to do it—I guess that makes me just as sick and perverted as that bastard who raped you."

"No, it doesn't!" I told him earnestly. "You did nothing that I regret and you didn't go any farther than I was willing—"

"You don't understand, Vivienne," he said, opening his eyes and fixing me with their blazing stare. "I wanted to…I wanted to so badly. I could hardly control myself. You can't imagine in your innocence the things I wanted to do to you."

I shivered myself, unable to help it or hide it from him. The dark, deep music of his voice coupled with the impassioned fervency of his declaration enflamed that newly-discovered desire and made me yearn to know what he'd been thinking then, even as the urge unnerved me. He misinterpreted my reaction and said, "You see? The thought of it disgusts you."

"There you go acting like you know what I'm thinking again," I snapped. How did this conversation get so sidetracked? "I told you, Erik, I love you."

"No!" he cried, springing to his feet and retreating across the room. "You can't! You have no idea what you're saying! I'm not a good man, Vivienne—"

"You're good to me," I said.

He shook his head energetically. "You only say that because you don't know. You don't know who I really am—"

"Then tell me!" I urged. "Tell me, I want to know—"

"I can't tell you! If I did, you'd leave me!"

"You can't have it both ways, Erik!"

"I can have it however I like!" He was working himself into a turmoil, starting to pace agitatedly back and forth. He looked like a cornered animal, anxious and desperate for an escape.

"Look at you," I said. "You're scared to death! What are you so afraid of? Me?"

He paused, his chest heaving. "If you must know, yes!" he burst out. "I'm terrified of you, and what you could do to me, and what I could do to you—"

"We wouldn't hurt each other," I replied, trying to calm him. "We would never hurt each other—"

"Not intentionally," he said, "and that's the worst part! You've never been in love, Vivienne, and you don't know how terrible it can be. We could break each other, we could do so much damage, we could destroy each other and never even mean to! Could you stand to live with that?"

"I'm willing to risk it," I told him.

He stood there for a moment, then flung himself back down on the bench and pressed his hands to his face. "Vivienne, Vivienne, you don't know what you're asking of me," he moaned.

"I'm not asking anything of you," I said, kneeling at his feet, "I'm telling you what I feel. Is it really too much to accept?"

"You have no idea," he replied. He looked down at me, the features exposed to my eyes twisted with some unshared anguish. "You told me a long time ago; I'm a monster. No one could ever love a monster, Vivienne, no matter how he longs to be loved."

I reached up and took his hands, pressing them to my lips. "Forgive me," I begged. "I was ignorant and spoke in haste, and I take it all back. I love you, Erik, I really do."

"Tell me what you feel," he said. "Don't try to name it; just describe it for me."

"I need you," I told him, "more than I ever thought I could ever need anything. You understand me and you take such good care of me, and I feel like I understand you better than you give me credit for. You've been abused and neglected for so long and you've grown to think that no one on earth could ever care for you and that you don't deserve to be loved. Well, I tell you, you deserve it more than anyone, and I _do_ care for you, Erik, if you could only see it—"

"Vivienne, I can't," he told me, almost apologetically. "Just—just go away, and we can pretend this never happened—"

"Erik, even you aren't that thick-headed," I told him. "Please, just tell me why it's so hard for you to accept me—"

"Accept you?" he repeated. "You don't know how much I want to accept you, but I just…Vivienne, please—"

"You can't accept yourself," I said, "and you think I never could either."

"You don't even know me!"

"You keep saying that and you refuse to tell me! At least tell me what _you _feel, please!"

He snatched his hands out of my grasp and stood again, turning away from me. I remained on the floor, watching him and wishing with all my heart I knew what was in his. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

She didn't know how I longed to believe what she was telling me. I wanted to believe it so much I felt it might kill me after all. But…I _couldn't! _She hadn't seen the worst of me; she could never see the worst of me. I could never let her see, and yet I needed her to, to know once and for all if someone really could love me in spite of myself. But if she knew how deep the darkness in me ran and she couldn't face it—

Oh, God, why did it have to be so damn cruel? Why couldn't I just let everything go and give us both what we yearned for?

I couldn't even bring myself to look at her. "Vivienne," I pleaded, fighting to speak past the knot in my throat, "I need you to understand me. There's the fire of the world in your soul, but mine is scorched and blackened by the flames of Hell itself. I'm a disease, and I contaminate everything in my path. I—I don't even know how to love you. The last time I tried to love anyone, the world burned. _Your _world burned. The sins against me are too many to count and too gruesome to think of, but if I tried to love you the way you need to be and I ended by drowning you in my own darkness, it would be—"

I stopped. I couldn't stand to think of it.

"I'm not afraid of you, Erik," she said, her tone bold and fearless, not at all the uncertain tremble of when we first met or even when she first came to me with her declaration. "I just want you to give me the chance to prove myself to you. How do I know if I can withstand that darkness you speak of if you don't give me that chance?"

"I can't!" I repeated. "God, how many times must I say it? I would cast myself onto a pyre for the courage, but I'm just not as brave as you are!"

"I don't believe that," she replied. I heard the rustle of her dress as she stood and felt her hand on my arm. "You couldn't have survived all these years on your own if you weren't brave enough to face it. Let me prove that I'm as brave as you are, please."

"It's not your bravery that concerns me," I told her, finally turning to her and taking another step back. "It's your strength. You're so strong, Vivienne, but I don't know if you're strong enough."

"Isn't that up to me to decide?" she demanded, her emerald eyes flashing. "You can't choose for me how strong or how weak I'll be! I don't know how badly hurt you've been by the rest of the world, but I can make it right, I know I can! Just let me show you!"

"No!" I said, my voice rising. "I can't do it, I can't be at someone's mercy again! I told myself years ago I would never be powerless against someone ever again, not after—"

"Christine!" she snapped—no, growled. There really was a tigress within her after all, and the animal rose up in defiance of her rival. "If she was weak enough to run away from you because she couldn't handle all you are, then you never would have been happy with her anyway."

"I would have crushed her!" I insisted. "I was too much for her, she was too fragile—"

"But I'm not!" Vivienne cried. "Why is that so hard for you to wrap your mind around? I'm stronger than you think!"

I couldn't make her see! I could tear her apart and scatter the pieces across all of creation, and she had no idea of the danger! "I'm the worst kind of villain imaginable," I told her. "I'm a practiced killer, I have no morals to speak of, and nothing can restrain me. I can't even restrain myself."

"You forgot to mention how arrogant you are," she added sarcastically, "and how idiotic. I know all this, Erik, and I don't care—"

"I've already corrupted you," I insisted. "You don't care that I've murdered more men than I can count!"

"No, I don't," she said, stepping towards me again. "Does that shock you? Maybe there's a little darkness in me, too, so yours can't hurt me."

"But you could—Vivienne, just stop, just leave me be, please!"

"What do I have to do?" she demanded. "I love you, and I'm not leaving this room until you accept it!"

"Don't be a fool," I told her. "I could throw you out of here in an instant."

"Well, you're going to have to," she said, tilting her chin up defiantly. "Erik, it's not so hard—"

"It is for me!" I told her. "You have no idea what it's like! You can't imagine what it is to go through life as I have, unloved and unwanted, despised everywhere you go, convinced that it will never get better and never change and that every dream you've ever cherished will only rip you apart with your longing! You can't just turn around from that, no matter how much anyone begs and pleads! This is what I mean when I say you're just a child! You're too immature to understand!"

Tears of anger and frustration had pooled in her eyes, but they still burned as she said, "I might be immature, but I'm not so jaded I'm unwilling to take a chance that when someone offers me love, they're telling the truth."

"Damn you!" I shouted. "Just go away! I don't want you!"

"I don't care, Erik!" she stormed back. "I want you, and I'll prove it!"

I couldn't stop her. Before I knew what she was doing, she was standing right in front of me, and with a flash of movement, she reached out and tore off my mask and pressed her lips to mine.

I responded faster than my senses did. I wrapped my arms around her and yanked her to me, drawing her body flush against mine. I buried my hands in her long hair and pulled her in closer, parting her lips with my tongue. It was then that a modicum of reason returned to me, and I saw she had closed her eyes. She wasn't looking at me. She had never looked at me.

I snatched my mask back from her and pushed her away from me. She fell to the floor and I used the distraction to hide my face again, turning my back to her once more.

"Erik, I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I'm so sorry, I know I shouldn't have—"

I walked away, leaving the room as fast as I could. I could hear her follow along behind me, trying to keep up. "Please, come back," she begged, "I didn't mean to, I just—"

"Don't," I told her. "Just—don't."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Don't follow me."

"You can't leave, Erik, please!" She caught hold of my sleeve but I shook her off, deaf to her pleading and her desperate tears. I couldn't stay there; I had to go. "Stay here," I ordered.

"Erik, wait! Don't go!"

I opened the door that led from the house to the lake, slipped out, and shut it before she could follow me. Then I went as fast as I could into the darkness, the echoes of her pleas still ringing in my ears and the taste of her kiss still fresh in my mind.

**Keep it coming! I need to hear from you!**


	21. Chapter 21

**All right, guys, ****I've kept you waiting long enough. Here ya go!**

_Vivienne_

I threw myself down to the floorboard and hit the nail, scrambling back to my feet as the wall opened again. I rushed through the door into the darkness and stopped.

Erik was gone. He would have been long gone before I'd even managed to open the door. I thought briefly of going back inside to get a light and setting off after him, but where would I look? The cellars were enormous and I didn't know my way around them. If he wanted to hide, he would stay hidden.

I swiped angrily at the tears on my cheeks and called, "Erik! Come back, please come back!" I took a few more steps beyond the door and heard the lake lapping the shore nearby. "Erik! Erik!"

There was nothing. I took a few more steps forward, then halted again. I hovered there for a time, still indecisive, before I spun on my heel and went back into the house. I tried to stay calm, but I couldn't keep control. I let out a scream of anger and hurt, rushing into his room and knocking over a stack of music. The scores tumbled to the ground and the loose pages scattered everywhere and I kicked over the organ bench, then threw the manuscript he'd been working on away and reached for the violin.

I stopped again. His violin, the one he'd taught me to play on…How foolish was it to feel such love for an inanimate thing? It could never return love; it couldn't even feel love, and for that I envied it. If all this rage and pain was brought on by love, then it would be so much easier as a bit of polished wood and strings.

I picked it up and held it to my body, then went to sit on the bed. The scenes played back in my head, but from a different point of view. I could see everything as though I were a spectator. I saw Erik draw away from me as I approached. I saw myself attempt to convince him of my feelings for him. And finally, I saw myself steal away his mask and kiss him.

How could I have been so stupid? I'd promised him I would never touch his mask, that I would leave the decision to remove it in his hands. Yet in a moment of desperation, I had gone back on my word.

I hadn't done it to humiliate him; I'd only wanted to prove to him that I could love him, regardless of what he thought. But still, to do that to him was to go too far. And to kiss him on top of it was too much. How could I be angry with him for being upset?

_He didn't have to go! _I stormed furiously. _He didn't have to leave me here! Why does he have to be so stubborn? _

I rocked back and forth, fresh tears filling my eyes. When would he come back? How long would he leave me alone like this? To be fair, he probably did need time to think about what I'd said, but would he accept what I'd told him as the truth? Unexpected as it was, I was in love with him. Now the question burning in my mind was whether he could ever bring himself to love me back. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I didn't stop until I'd reached the roof, the cold air stabbing into my lungs with every breath I took. It was nearly morning; the sky to the east was turning gray with the coming sunrise. I climbed atop the statue of Apollo and looked down over Paris. The city was still sleeping, but there were a few people moving about in the streets below me.

I sighed heavily, thinking back to what had just passed. Vivienne, my little chorus girl, my lovely phoenix, loved me. Could it even be possible? Was it possible for anyone to love me?

Oh, how I hated the cruel cycle of my thoughts…I wanted more than anything to believe her words were true, but there was nothing I feared and mistrusted more. If she loved me, I could finally have the chance for the happiness that had been denied me all my life. If she loved me and I accepted it, it would leave me powerless and vulnerable to still more pain and sorrow.

How could I let myself be open to such hurt again? Every last memory of heartache weighed on my mind as I watched the dawn creep closer: my mother's rejection, my mistreatment at the hands of so many and that last devastating blow Christine dealt me. I was barely holding on to my sanity as it was, so what would happen to me if it all happened again?

But what if I did the rejecting and the heartbreaking this time? I would crush not only my own dreams, but hers as well. I could see in her eyes how she pleaded for me to believe her and take the love she offered; if I were to spurn her it would wound her already damaged heart. I cared enough about her to want to spare her that pain.

Yet if I cared about her so much, then how could I do this to her? How could I let her come to care about me and risk tainting her soul with my own cursed existence? All I could give her was a hideaway underground and she deserved so much more than that. What I should do was set her free, but it was too late for that already. I'd given her back her liberty, and she'd chosen to remain. The chains I'd first placed on her were broken only to be replaced with newer, stronger, harsher ones. It was too late to let her go, even if I could bring myself to.

I leaned my head back against the statue and closed my eyes. What was I thinking to even imagine something like this? How could she really love me when she didn't know the worst of me? When her eyes were opened at last to reality—_my_ reality—then any love she felt for me would be dashed away. I was a monster inside and out. I was unworthy of love and condemned to remain alone.

But no, that _couldn't _be right! I just couldn't bring myself to accept it, and still I found myself faltering like this! Why was I so bent on running from everything I'd ever wanted?

Did I even have to ask myself again? It took courage to face something like this, whether it was a new experience or whether you already had battle scars. I was amazed at her bravery. Between us, I really was the coward after all.

Her cries sounded in my ears once more, the memory of how I'd left her a short while ago. It tore at me like a wolf hounding its prey, but I couldn't go back yet. I just…I just couldn't. Not yet.

But when?

I sighed, then climbed down from the statue. The sun was rising, and I preferred to do all my brooding in the dark. 

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

Erik didn't come back that night. I sat waiting for him in his room as the hours passed so slowly, but he didn't appear. At some point I drifted off and fell asleep in his bed, still clinging to the violin as though it were a holy relic. My dreams were roiled and rife with darkness: the fire at the Opera, scenes of my weeping aunt and drunken uncle, the man on the street, and then just the empty blackness of the cellars as I stood on the shore of the lake screaming for Erik to come back.

I woke in tears.

Another day passed, and still no sign of Erik. I sat outside on the lakeshore hoping he would come until the cold forced me back inside and I continued my vigil in front of the sitting room fire. He had to come back; he had nowhere else to go. It was the long, weary wait that took its toll on me. I missed him so badly, his presence always so reassuring even when he was in the foulest moods. I was safe as long as he was around, but without him I felt so lost.

How could that be when I'd known him for such a short span of time? I needed him with me; I needed him like I needed to breathe, as so many poets had already said. I'd never known how literally they'd meant it until I suddenly found that my lungs wouldn't accept the air around me unless I was sharing it with him. I wanted him to understand that I loved him that much, but he just wasn't there.

I tried to be patient, tried to stay strong as hour followed hour, each one stretched across the span of eternity, but with every passing second I learned the next lesson my heart had to teach me: Love was so closely attached to hate. The longer he kept me waiting the more painful my love felt, and the more pain he put me in the angrier I became until I knew for certain that when he finally dared to show his face again I would likely go blind with my rage.

I stared into the fire, holding my hand out to the flames until the heat made me draw back. It was strange how one of the elemental forces of life could also be so deadly, like Erik himself and the fire he'd awoken within me. If we let it get out of control, it could become our funeral pyre—or our forge of rebirth. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I waited in the dark for two and a half days, buried in my thoughts and hiding in the darkest recesses of the Opera. She would never forgive me for abandoning her for so long, but it was necessary. I needed to stay away. I needed to summon at least some of the courage she possessed in such excess.

If this was to be my last chance…I couldn't turn away from it. If I wanted to escape the black abyss of my existence and finally feel life in my veins, I couldn't afford to be weak now. I was still afraid, but fear would not serve my purpose.

At last, I summoned enough strength to return to the cellars. My house was silent as a mausoleum as I searched the rooms for her. The sitting room was empty and as far as I could tell, her bed hadn't been slept in for days. But she was definitely here. I could sense her so close by, the light that was her spirit drawing me forward like a moth to the flame of a candle.

She was in my room, asleep in my bed with her arms wrapped around my violin. I glanced around the room and recognized the signs of her fury; my music had been scattered across the floor in a fit of contempt and misery, and even now her sleep was far from easy. I could hear her whimper softly and saw her shudder at the torment of her dreams.

Pain, physical pain, lanced through me at the sight. Not another nightmare…hadn't she suffered enough in her time awake? I went to her side and cupped her face in my hands. Her skin felt cold and clammy beneath my fingers. A cry escaped her and I said loudly and clearly, "Vivienne. Wake up now. It's only a dream." I leaned forward and pressed a shy kiss to her lips.

She opened her eyes and didn't seem to understand the sight that met her. I could read her thoughts in her gaze. I had walked out and left her alone…what was I doing back now? The brief confusion was quickly replaced by a fierce, blazing light and she sat up, pushing the violin away. "You're back," she said.

"Yes, Vivienne," I replied. "I've—I've come home."

"You left me here," she continued.

"I know, and I'm so sorry. I—had to. I'm sorry."

She was silent for several moments, then she slapped me across the face with all the strength in her body. The action took me by surprise but not nearly so much as when she continued to hit me, unleashing the full force of her anger.

"You can't just walk out and leave me alone like that and then come back and tell me you're sorry!" she shouted, striking me with her tiny fists. "I ran after you! I _begged _you to come back! How could you do that to me?"

"Vivienne, please!" I replied, raising my voice over hers. "Just calm down—"

"I will _not _calm down! I needed you, Erik, and you weren't there! You were gone! You just left me here!"

I reached out and held her by the wrists, restraining her. She glared at me with such undisguised rage that I wondered if I would suddenly burst into flame at its intensity. "I needed to go, Vivienne," I told her. "I was so confused and couldn't understand what you'd said to me that day. I couldn't make sense of any of it! For God's sake, girl, it was just…it was just so damned hard for me to think of it. You have no idea how I felt to hear you tell me you love me."

"I hate you!" she cried, tears spilling onto her cheeks. "As much as I loved you then, I hate you now!"

"I can cope with your hatred," I said. "It was your love I couldn't deal with."

"Erik, I'm sorry I took off your mask," she sobbed, "but I just couldn't make you understand! I didn't mean to hurt you! You didn't have to desert me!"

"I did," I told her, shifting my hands to her face again and looking into her eyes. "I did have to! It was too much, my dear, sweet child; I didn't know what else to do! You laid before me the most desperate dream of my heart, but my life had taught me to no longer trust my heart anymore. I didn't know how to believe what you said to me, and then what you did—"

"I'm sorry!" she repeated, still crying passionately. "I'm sorry, Erik!"

"Don't," I said, wiping her tears away. "Don't cry, Vivienne, please don't. What you did gave me the biggest shock of my life. You have to understand; no one has ever kissed me the way you did of your own free will. It was like none of it mattered to you, what I've done, what I am, what I look like…it was more than I could face at once."

"And you ran away!" she shot back. "You ran from all you say you've ever wanted like it was worthless and as though you didn't care at all!"

"I did care! I cared so much it scared me to death! That's why I ran away, I was scared that what you were saying was true and that the heaven I'd longed for was just within my reach. After you spend so long in hell, it's hard to risk joy and the agony that can come with it."

She shoved out of my grasp and said, "Well, I don't care! You said you wouldn't leave me, and you lied! You lied, Erik! I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I couldn't even breathe! I needed you so much, and I hated you for it!" She broke off with a cry of despair and pressed her hands to her face as her entire body shuddered with her sobs.

I was still unsure of myself, but I wrapped my arms around her and held her close to me, praying she wouldn't push me away again and thanking God when she didn't. If what she needed was to cry, then all I could do was let her. I could wait to do what I had to until she had calmed down.

Eventually she fell quiet and gently drew away, rubbing at her swollen eyes and swallowing compulsively. She heaved a great sigh and said, "I'm sorry. I've just been waiting for you for so long and I was so furious with you…I didn't stop to think why you left."

"It's all right," I assured her. "Don't apologize." I took a deep breath. "There's…something I need to say."

"What?"

My hands began to shake, and I clenched them to keep them still. "No one has ever taken my mask off to do anything but mock and torment me. My face has been my curse. It's brought me so much pain for anyone to see me, you can't imagine. From the day I was born, I was made to believe that no one could ever think of me as something worthy of love and compassion. I looked like a monster, so I must not possess the same heart as a human and must not feel the way other humans do. My mask became more than a disguise, Vivienne. It was the only way I could even begin to be like anyone else; it protected me from their hatred; it gave me a shred of dignity.

"I wanted to prove you were like everyone else when I tried to make you take it from me because it would have made it easier on me if you treated me with the same contempt as they did. When you didn't and left the choice in my hands, it was such a gift, and then when you took my mask and didn't run away from me but actually kissed me, of your own free will—"

I stopped, unable to go on. She looked at me and waited for me to continue. A mounting sense of fear threatened to take hold of me. She might not be able to withstand this…but we'd never know if I didn't give her the opportunity. "Vivienne, I—I want you to see—" Damn it, be strong now! "I want you to see my face."

I turned my eyes away from her, not wanting to see if there was any fear or anxiety in her expression. "I want you to see," I said. "You said you wanted to prove yourself to me, and I want to prove myself as well, to both of us."

There was silence, then I heard her say, "All right."

"Just don't—don't look at me yet," I pleaded. "Please, turn away until I—until I say so." I snuck a glance at her. She had turned her head in the opposite direction.

I couldn't control how violently my hands trembled as I raised them to my mask. I could take it off when she wasn't looking…that wasn't so hard…I held it in my hands and felt the air on my face, the face I had kept hidden for so long…

The desire to flee flared strong. I couldn't do this, I just couldn't!

She sensed my terror and said softly, "It's your choice, Erik, and no one else's."

Another deep breath… "All right, Vivienne. Look at me."

**I realize I might be driving some of you nuts by now, but just trust me, okay? I've got a few wild cards up my sleeve, and I'd hate to think you'd ditch me after all this time. :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**My mind's drawing a blank for an introduction right now, so here's the chapter. Feedback, please! Thank you!**

_Vivienne_

I held my breath, feeling a sudden creeping dread come upon me, but I fought it back. If Erik could stand to show me his face, then I could stand to look. I slowly turned my head, bracing myself for I knew not what. I couldn't help it; I gave a quickly stifled gasp.

The left side was so stunningly perfect, and the right was…death. Not dead-looking, but touched by Death itself. The skin was waxy and oddly jaundiced, stretched tight over the bones that seemed to stab out more sharply than in any other face I'd seen. One half of his nose was fleshed out like any other nose, but the other was hardly there at all, leaving just a gaping nostril. His lips were nearly nonexistent, something I'd noticed when we kissed but something else entirely when I saw them before my eyes. They were as flawless as the rest of him on the one side and just withered away to nothing. I couldn't see it before through his mask, but his right eye was sunken back deep into his skull where it glowed out like a fiercely burning piece of coal from the dark socket. Even as I watched, he reached up to his own hair and pulled until it came away—a wig, I now realized. The hair he did have was a shade lighter, roughly cut and uneven where it grew and grizzled and sparse elsewhere, leaving completely bald patches on his scalp.

I couldn't look away from him, and he wouldn't look at me. "So, this is it," he said in a would-be matter-of-fact voice that shook too much to deceive me. "This is what I am…I was already one foot in the grave the moment I was born."

He gave a nervous chuckle, but I didn't have the heart to laugh at his attempt at humor. My eyes raked the unfamiliar features and I asked, "You were born this way?"

"Yes. My mother never forgave me for it. She said I would have looked like my grandfather if I weren't such an unholy abomination."

"That was cruel of her," I replied softly.

He shrugged. "She was an absolute saint compared to…others."

I curled my fingers into my skirts, then tentatively reached out to touch him. The moment my skin grazed his I saw him go tense like a wild animal ready to bolt away in fright, but he still wouldn't look at me. I cautiously stroked his cheek; he was still so cold to the touch but his skin was so smooth beneath my fingertips. He shivered and I asked, "What is it?"

"I'm—not used to having anyone touch my face," he told me. "Everyone who saw it refused to approach me as though it was some terrible plague that might infect them."

"Then is it all right if I touch you now?"

"It's too late to ask permission," he replied. "You made me your puppet at the first contact and could do whatever you wanted with me."

"I suppose that's a bit of knowledge I'd do well to keep in mind," I said, trying to join his earlier stab at humor.

"You would exploit it tremendously, yet I doubt I would summon the will to care," he added. Finally, he turned to look at me and I saw tears glistening in his eyes. "Vivienne, does it…" he stopped, unable to finish.

I considered it seriously for a long time, absorbing every strange and uncanny detail. Was this a face I could accept? How would I feel to see it before me every day for the rest of my life? The first shock had worn off and I found myself looking with more and more fascination. Why would God choose to create such a face and to smite this man in front of me like that? What kind of twisted game was it? But I knew the man inside, I'd seen the heart and soul of him staring out at me through those golden eyes, and it was as contradictory as his appearance. The symmetry was undeniable, and the lesson was clear as day. No one would ever know him as I had come to know him if they couldn't see what I could see. And if they couldn't bring themselves to open their eyes like that, then they weren't good enough for him after all he'd already been through.

"Please answer me," he pleaded. "Does my face trouble you?"

I shook my head. "No," I replied. "It doesn't."

"You could get used to it," he went on. "Someday you wouldn't even notice it, and it wouldn't matter at all."

"I don't think it matters right now," I told him. "Really, I don't, not now that—" I stopped uncertainly, brushing the tears from his face as he had done for me only minutes ago. "It's unusual and unexpected," I continued, choosing my words carefully, "but it doesn't matter, Erik."

Without a word, he drew me to him and held me to his chest. I wriggled deeper into his arms and felt him rest his head on my shoulder, and I sighed. It would take some getting used to, it was so out of the ordinary, but the face was unimportant compared to the man himself.

As always, we returned to the music as a reprieve from the tension between us, and I think this time it was also a gesture that we could carry on as we'd always done, even with this new revelation. After nearly three days apart, he was insistent upon my practicing the violin for a while before I went to bed, though he wasn't nearly as attentive a teacher as he might have been under different circumstances.

When he finally let me stop, I handed him the violin and kissed his cheek without compunction. "Good night, Erik," I said. I considered it for a moment, then leaned in again and kissed him on the lips. I saw his hands clench the neck of the violin until his knuckles turned white, but he didn't show any other sign of emotion. I drew away and repeated, "Good night."

"Good night, Vivienne," he replied.

I left his room and slipped away into mine. As I put on my night gown, I thought everything over. He had trusted me enough to show me that part of him he was most ashamed of, and I had shown him how strong I could be for us both. Surely he couldn't doubt me anymore?

There was a knock on my door and I wrapped my dressing gown around me before answering it. Erik stood there looking down at me, shy and determined all at once. "What is it?" I asked.

"I want to try that again," he said. "Vivienne, I…I want to kiss you. May I?"

I nodded.

He raised a hand to brush my cheek, then still so shyly kissed me. I couldn't help but smile against his lips. His reserve and timidity were just too sweet. He pulled away and asked, "What are you grinning at?"

"You," I replied. I could see him trying to work out what I meant, deciding whether I was complimenting or ridiculing him, and I didn't leave him to wonder anymore by kissing him again.

He responded with more warmth this time, putting his hands on my waist and moving his mouth against mine. I twined the fingers of my right hand through his uneven hair and placed my left palm on his sunken cheek, daring to press my body to his.

And then…

What happened next was lightning-fast and as much of a shock. He tightened his hold on me and spun us both around, stepping into my room and pushing me up against the wall. My mouth opened in a little gasp of surprise and he darted inside, tasting me with his tongue as his hands found my wrists and pinned them at either side of my head. He trapped me between his body and the wall, and as I felt him grow hard against me I felt a jolt of alarm. I was completely in his power.

Just like back then—

No, it wasn't like then! It was Erik! It was different, it was—something else entirely, something dark and endless…

He moved his lips to my neck, kissing me with feverish intensity, and though my knees nearly buckled beneath me there was still that sense of fear in my mind. There was raw, fierce hunger in his every movement, and…it seemed insatiable and dangerous. "Erik?" I said nervously.

He growled softly in his throat, let my wrists fall again and ran his hands up and down my body. I was clad only in my night things and there was only the merest layers of silk and linen separating his skin from mine. There was a dull ache deep down within me and a scorching heat running through my veins, so powerful it frightened me. And he was so ardent in his actions it scared me even more. "Wait," I said, louder.

He untied the belt of my robe and reached for the laces of my night gown—

"Erik, stop it!" I shouted.

He released me at once and stood in a daze for a moment, then turned and fled. I slid down the length of the wall and huddled on the floor, panting and trembling and the panicked racing of my heart matched only by the wild desire that was still burning me alive.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I hadn't meant to go so far. I'd only wanted to kiss her at last without the impediment of my mask. But her lips were so soft, and she'd smiled, and she'd kissed me back…her scent had filled me like a drug and her body had been so warm and yielding beneath my hands and—I wanted her. She had accepted me after all, even after she'd seen my face, and I felt as though I was suddenly dying of a thirst that would never be slaked until she'd accepted every last part of me with all the passion she was capable of—

The fear in her voice shattered everything and when I looked at her with eyes no longer bleeding with desire it came crashing down on me what I'd done. She was afraid of me! She was wide-eyed and shaking and shrinking back away from me. _Oh, God…oh, God! _

I left and returned to my bedroom, tearing at my hair and gritting my teeth against the furious shout I could feel gathering in my chest. What had I done? I'd been too eager, too forceful; I'd put her against that wall and didn't offer her the chance to stop me; I would have done even more without thinking twice and only realizing all I'd done when it was over.

An image burst into my mind of her when she first came here, when I'd found her lying on the bank sobbing out her agony and when she'd cringed at my touch. I had promised to never lay a hand on her that way, the darling girl had trusted my word, and now I'd gone and assaulted her like that…

How could I have been such an idiot? I'd forced her to remember the thing she most wanted to forget and I'd come within a breath of forcing her, plain and simple! I didn't want her to fear me or connect me with the horror she'd already suffered. I'd wanted her to see the man, but I had shown her the monster.

My legs gave out beneath me and I fell to the floor. What would I have done if she hadn't stopped me? Would I have proved to be as depraved and ruthless as her memories of what men could be? I told myself over and over again I could never do that to her, but Mother of God, I could be so high-handed…the hunger within me was seated in the deepest corner of that darkness in my soul that still terrified even me with its power. It had been repressed for so long I had no idea what would happen when it was finally given free rein. If I were to lose myself to it entirely—

No! I couldn't think of that! I hadn't lost myself; I had come back in time.

But I couldn't take back what I'd done before that point, and I would have done even more than that—

I couldn't know that for sure, especially as I hadn't actually done more.

I wasn't given the chance to do more. I would have seized upon it and taken all I wanted—

"God, stop it!" I growled, raging at my own thoughts. I darted to the organ and slammed my hands down on the keys, striking random notes and channeling the madness in my head into pure and unalloyed chaos. Why must this cycle of self-loathing continue? Why must I be the way I was when it threatened to spill out into destruction like this? I wanted to break free, yet at the same time I was afraid that if I did I would break her as well. I had to carry these chains everywhere and God, how I wanted to throw them off!

I played until I was utterly spent and nearly collapsed at the instrument. Feeling as though my limbs were weighted down with lead, I staggered to my feet and made my way to my bed, falling onto it with an exhaustion I'd only ever experienced in the worst times of my life. My furious playing had done nothing to drown out the sound of her voice in my head, and my weariness only made it that much easier for my despair to claim me. It was another cycle that refused to break: I would shy away from what I wanted most, then rush after it and chase it even further away. I could turn from the hunted to the hunter in the blink of an eye, and she would be easy prey should I become the predator again…

I let out a moan of agony as I fell victim to my tormented mind once again.

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

God, I felt so numb, which was entirely unexpected when I considered the turn of events, but maybe it was only natural to be so stupefied after so much…

And I wasn't making the slightest bit of sense, even to myself.

When Erik left I continued to stay there on the floor, unable to control the tide of memories and nightmares that seemed hell-bent on drowning me. I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep from crying out as it struck me, the viola being wrenched away from me, the unbreakable grip on my arm, the way I'd been backed against a wall with no escape possible and no question as to what was about to happen to me—

I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up a new image, and it was Erik's face that appeared. His yellow eyes held such fire even the memory of them was enough to burn. It would always be different with Erik, I realized, because Erik himself was so different. There was no pain, no malice, no evil there. It was…primeval, salacious, animalistic, intoxicating…it was pure instinct and the moment I tasted it, it flung open the door on something equally potent and dark in my very essence. It was so necessary and I needed it, craved it more than anything. I felt myself on the edge of a yawning abyss and if I stepped out into it I would never stop falling.

And it was the most terrifying thing I'd ever felt.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. Erik would have no idea what had scared me so much. He would assume that he had frightened me for other reasons. He would torture himself thinking I thought him capable of such an act.

But that wasn't the case, was it? It was my first glimpse of his desire and the desperate need it had awoken within me that had made me draw away again. I knew exactly what had filled me with such dread was something I wouldn't be able to do without. If there ever came a time when I would have to let it go, God help me. I didn't want to fight it, but it would be such a harsh master.

He would never see it like that. He would only see what he'd been conditioned to see, that he was a beast who would only ever maim and destroy all he touched. I couldn't let him go on like that. He had to learn a new way of looking at himself or he'd kill us both with his angst and anguish.

I sighed again and thought, _He just can't find a middle ground, can he?_

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I thought I was dreaming when I felt movement beside me and saw her there in my bed next to me. How could it be anything else? She wouldn't want to come near me after what I'd done.

And yet her gentle touch seemed real enough, and surely I couldn't dream the taste of her as she kissed me…

But how could she be here?

"When will you learn that you can't run from me and expect me not to follow you?" she asked softly.

"Would you want to follow if it meant me harming you?" I replied.

She placed a finger to my lips to silence me and said, "You could never hurt me. It was just…I never dreamed that there was such fire within you. I thought I was the phoenix between us."

"Oh, you poor naïve thing," I told her, "you have no idea. If you stay here, that fire might devour me and I'm afraid I'd take you with me, with or without your consent."

She only moved closer and laid her head upon my chest. "No you won't," she assured me. "I trust you, Erik. You're not a monster."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite." She sighed and closed her eyes. "You have to come around to my way of thinking sooner or later, and until you do I intend to remind you as often as I have to."

"You're in this for the long haul then, are you?"

"Of course. You're not the only one who can't do things by halves."

And to my intense stupefaction, she fell asleep there in my arms.

**I haven't had breakfast yet, so I'm not feeling too eloquent at all right now. Just let me know what you think and I'll go have some toast, then enjoy a little down time before getting to work on the next chapter.**


	23. Chapter 23

**It took some time to crank this one out (blame it on a crazy weekend), but here it is. Enjoy!**

_Erik_

Oh God, there she was again, stumbling away from me as I stormed and raged at her…I couldn't control the pain and the anger…she was terrified…her fear was my power…

And then she was running…as fast as she could…leaving me behind…_Christine, stop…_she wouldn't look back…_wait…I didn't mean this to happen…_she wouldn't listen…_don't go, please…_

Were my eyes fooling me, or had those dark curls turned red?

_No, please don't leave…you can't leave me here…come back…_

"Erik…"

_Come back…_

"I'm right here, Erik, I haven't gone anywhere..." I felt a tender caress on my face and shuddered awake.

Vivienne was beside me, her green eyes alight with concern and affection. I never thought I'd see any woman look at me with so much affection, and after that dream it was the last thing I'd expected yet the one thing I'd craved.

I took hold of her hand and pressed it to my lips. "You're still here," I sighed.

"Was I supposed to go anywhere?" she replied.

"I was afraid you would," I told her, not sure if I was referring to the dream or something else. The words tore from me before I could keep them back. "How can you stay here with me willingly? You've seen what I can be like, but you have yet to see how low I can sink. How can you do it?"

She continued to stroke my features, the ugly as well as the normal. "I've also seen how good you can be, and I think that's the real you. You weren't born a monster, no matter what you might have become. Besides, I can't give you up now. After the things you've brought to life in me and all the things you've made me feel, I would kill myself before letting them go."

I sighed. "You see what I've done to you already?" I asked. "You wouldn't care what happened to you; you'd overlook every danger to yourself. I'm damaged, Vivienne."

"So am I," she countered. "It doesn't have to hold you down forever."

"I might never be able to give all of myself to you," I warned. "There are just so many memories and they have me by the throat."

"You can shake them off."

My eyes rested on the scar on her wrist. It wasn't as livid as it was a few weeks ago, but it would never fade entirely. I traced it with my fingertip and said, "How can you have shaken your own pain off so easily?"

"I haven't," she replied. "I may never shake it off entirely. But I can't just give up on the future by letting the past control me, right? Those memories can only have the power I give them."

"Ah, the optimism of youth," I said, teasing and envious.

"Oh come on, Erik, you can't be that old," she told me.

I shrugged. "Sometimes I feel I've lived too long, others like I haven't lived long enough. I haven't wasted my life, but I haven't spent it wisely either."

She was silent, and I needled, "You mean you don't have any sage advice for me? No ageless wisdom?"

"No," she said. "I don't know what to say to that."

I looked into her eyes and stroked her cheek. "My heart's been shattered so many times I doubt I still have all the pieces to put it back together," I told her. "If I give it to you, it might not be whole. And even now, I'm still reluctant to part with the bits I have left."

"So you think I don't understand?" she asked. "I've had something stolen from me, too, and I'll never get it back. Erik, I want to give myself to you, body and soul, but…it will take time before I'm ready to. I know how you feel."

I gave one last sigh and kissed her on the forehead. "_Vous sages petite sotte," _I murmured. She giggled, then rose. "We can't stay in bed all day," she said.

"But the idea sounds so appealing," I protested.

She rolled her eyes, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into a sitting position. "Get up, you useless thing," she said. "We have three days of music lessons to catch up on. I'm going to get dressed, and you need to make a start on breakfast."

"But I always end up doing the cooking," I complained, still teasing her.

"That's because I don't know how to cook," she pointed out.

"You know, you'd make a pitiful housewife."

"Well then, it's lucky that I'm not a housewife, isn't it?" With one last playful grin, she turned and left the room. I smiled after her. Her sanguinity was infectious.

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

We devoted most of the day to my lessons. My fingers had grown as nimble as the rest of me and the pieces Erik had given me to play were getting easier with practice, a fact that made me very proud considering their increasing difficulty. He didn't say much in the way of praise, but I could tell by the way he smiled when he thought I wasn't looking that I'd pleased him.

He hadn't yet put his mask back on and I knew he was still uncomfortable and wary without it, but I was already getting acquainted with seeing him without it. There were a few moments when I couldn't keep myself from staring at him, but the longer I stared the more accustomed to it I got and the more foolish it seemed to stare at all. Half of his face looked marked by the grave; so what? I'd seen worse things. The face of my rapist…now _that _was a terrible face.

Erik began to play an accompaniment along with me, his fingers moving lightly on the keys of the organ so as not to drown out the sound of the violin. I continued to steal glances at him, entranced by the way he moved as he played, swaying back and forth in abandon yet with such precision and control in his hands. Did he know he was so alluring and seductive? Probably not. Did he know that watching him made me want him to touch me like that and move that way with me? I doubted it. All he knew was that I was still afraid of such intimacy, and he was unaware that what I was most afraid of was what I would learn about myself through it…how weak, how wild, how helpless in the face of something I'd been taught was nothing but sin and shame.

I looked away and turned my focus back to the instrument in my hands.

When we'd finished playing, he smiled and said, "You're improving. I think you might have a place in the new orchestra if things don't work out in the ballet."

"You're still teasing me," I protested. "Even if I was that good, they'd never let a woman play in the orchestra."

"I'm sure the Phantom can make an arrangement with the managers," he replied jokingly.

I laid the violin down. "Please tell me you're still teasing now," I said. "If anyone finds out you're still here, they won't stop until they hunt you down."

"Of course I'm teasing," he told me. "Do you think I'm that dense?"

"Sometimes," I muttered under my breath, but I'm sure he heard me anyway. "How did you escape that night?" I asked. "The story was they sent a mob after you, but they kept the details quiet."

"That's because there were no details," he said. "I hid in the sewers while they searched and I left a mask behind so they might think I'd gone for good. I'd razed the Opera to the ground, remember? They weren't keen on staying around long enough to really look for me. When the fire had burned itself out I came back, made a few minor repairs to the damage down here, and settled back as normal."

"You planned on dying down here, didn't you?" I questioned.

He nodded. "Long before I ever laid eyes on any of you chorus girls, I'd made up my mind to stay where no one could find me and where I'd be safe from their hatred. Then after everything else, I just didn't care if I lived or died and I really didn't care where, just so long as I was alone in my misery."

"Alone in your misery? Why would you want that, when you hate to be alone at all?"

The look he gave me was bitter and mocking. "I only wanted what was already gone," he told me. "If I couldn't have her, I didn't want anyone."

"Until I stumbled in here, you mean," I corrected.

"Indeed," he agreed. "And I still have no idea how that happened. You see, I'd sworn to myself I'd never be powerless again. I'd never let someone get to me like that, to come so close they could take the heart right out me and crush it in their fist. Then you stumbled in here, as you put it…and if I may be so blunt, my dear, you scared the hell out of me when you did. I'd planned to kill you on sight, but I actually felt something for you in this broken old heart of mine. I was sorry for you, and it was like we were already joined together in our pain. I didn't want it to happen, but there you are."

I hummed in response, but my thoughts were too preoccupied to allow for a proper reply. Joined in our pain…really? Why couldn't we be joined in our love instead?

That was easy enough to work out. He was afraid of love, and I was afraid of the act. He couldn't give his heart and I couldn't give my body. What a pair we made! Separate halves of one whole! If we could get on the same page, we'd be in good shape.

_It'll just take time, that's all, _I assured myself. _There's still work to be done here, and we'll be all right. _I looked down at my wrists. We still had to form some more scar tissue before we could risk injury again.

That sounded like something he might say…we really did make a pair.

After the lesson we went to the sitting room as usual and I chose something to read. His face darkened when he saw the page and he said, "You couldn't have chosen something a little more uplifting?"

"What's wrong with it?" I asked.

He sighed and shook his head, then began to read.

"It was many and many a year ago,  
>In a kingdom by the sea,<br>That a maiden there lived whom you may know  
>By the name of Annabel Lee;<br>And this maiden she lived with no other thought  
>Than to love and be loved by me.<p>

I was a child and she was a child,  
>In this kingdom by the sea;<br>But we loved with a love that was more than love—  
>I and my Annabel Lee;<br>With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven  
>Coveted her and me.<p>

And this was the reason that, long ago,  
>In this kingdom by the sea,<br>A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling  
>My beautiful Annabel Lee;<br>So that her highborn kinsman came  
>And bore her away from me,<br>To shut her up in a sepulchre  
>In this kingdom by the sea.<p>

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,  
>Went envying her and me—<br>Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,  
>In this kingdom by the sea)<br>That the wind came out of the cloud by night,  
>Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.<p>

But our love it was stronger by far than the love  
>Of those who were older than we—<br>Of many far wiser than we—  
>And neither the angels in heaven above,<br>Nor the demons down under the sea,  
>Can ever dissever my soul from the soul<br>Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams  
>Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;<br>And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes  
>Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;<br>And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side  
>Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,<br>In the sepulchre there by the sea,  
>In her tomb by the sounding sea."<p>

He closed the book and said, "Imagine what that must be like, to love someone so strongly and so deeply, only to have them torn away from you forever…I suppose it must be easier when it's only death that separates you."

I hung my head. "I'm sorry, Erik."

"You didn't know," he told me. "I didn't have to read it and remind myself."

"Then just stop reminding yourself," I replied.

"I can't. She's still there in my mind and she won't leave me alone. She's the reason I can't love you like you want me to."

"You really are dense," I said, looking up at him. "She's gone, Erik, and she's not coming back. She's not what's holding you back; you're the one doing that to yourself. The sooner you just let her go, the easier it will be."

He glared at me. "I could say the same to you," he shot back. "It's not what that sick bastard did to you that's holding _you _back; the sooner you get over yourself, the easier it will be on both of us."

I smiled dryly. "So like a man," I said, "concerned only with what he is or isn't getting from the women around him."

"You little heathen!" he replied. "Don't you try to make out that I'm some kind of—"

"Oh, just shut up already," I interrupted. "Can we just agree that we both have our baggage and call it a truce?"

"Why are you giving up so easily?" he demanded. "You love starting these little disputes."

"But I'm not in the mood for it right now," I told him.

He rolled his eyes.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

Oh, the joys of a houseguest one is slowly but surely falling in love with…

She was about to drive me insane.

She was just as temperamental as I was, she was impossibly stubborn when it came to our disagreements, she was even more capricious than I ever thought about being, she could be the dearest, sweetest woman I'd ever met one minute and a downright hellion the next, and I suspected that in spending so much time with me she'd become even more contrary and moody. It was like looking in a mirror when I looked at her, albeit a mirror that reflected a shorter, lovelier, female version of me.

I had to shake my head. How exactly had I lived with myself all these years? How exactly did I plan to live with this little rogue for the years to come?

I'd often thought it was a blessing she wasn't like Christine, but I'd never really wanted to grow old with a miniature me…it would at the very least be an educational experience.

**Why do I feel like I might have bombed something there? Ah well, if you thought something was off, just let me know. :)**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hello, my pretties! Sorry it took awhile, but hey, it's the holidays. Merry Christmas, and enjoy!**

_Vivienne_

First the days went by, and then the days melted into weeks and months, until I realized that I had been with Erik for nearly a year. My nightmares had finally stopped and it was no longer necessary for him to stay with me in my room to keep them away anymore, but it had become necessary for another reason nonetheless. I had grown so used to his presence it became impossible for me to sleep if he wasn't there, and he seemed relieved every time I asked him to stay.

We continued to argue, tease and flirt. Our kisses just seemed to grow more intense. But every time it threatened to move beyond kissing, I backed away. It wasn't that I didn't trust Erik or that I didn't want him, but just as he was still wary of making any declarations similar to mine, I was cautious of sharing that particular intimacy with him. Part of me was still distrustful of that side of my nature, alarming and exciting as it was, and part of me just didn't want to lay with him until I knew how much I meant to him. I wanted his love, not just his lust. And his love was the one thing I was uncertain of. At times I would swear I already had it, but I was just as stubborn as he was and refused to believe until I'd heard it from him.

As I came to examine that dark new instinct that had flared to life within me, I found myself stealing more and more glances at Erik, wondering at the same urges he possessed. I could hear in the music he played more often the depths of passion and desire that existed in his soul and couldn't help but think he somehow connected that desire with his music. It took my breath away to hear it, it made my knees tremble and my body ache in previously unknown ways. I felt shivers run down my spine and warmth spread through my blood and I would begin to dream of him the way I'd never dreamed of men before—

And whenever he caught me listening, he would send me away with a sharp word.

On one such occasion, I backed out of his room and put my hand to my cheek, feeling it burn as though in a fever. The snatches of song I'd eavesdropped on were sensual, slowly shifting into the erotic, until finally I had no words for what I was feeling and it all became sensation, so like what I'd felt when Erik touched me and before that miraculous burst of ecstasy. I'd fidgeted and squirmed with unfulfilled longing until he became aware I was listening and sent me off.

I leaned against the wall in the hallway, my legs too weak to carry me and my breath still coming short. What was that music he was so adamant about not sharing with me? I waited until I could stand unsupported, then went back into his room.

He was at the organ, those potent notes still pouring forth at his command, his hands still teasing the keys until it seemed the whole instrument would collapse with the force of what it was feeling…or was that just me recalling what I had experienced at his fingertips? I pressed my hand to my stomach, the familiar heat stealing into my core, and watched him. His face was contorted with excruciating passion, his body stiffening and his limbs shaking but hitting the chords with unerring accuracy. I felt my own limbs melting and had to lower myself to the floor before I fell beneath the power of this devastating phenomenon. I couldn't breathe; he couldn't either. We gasped and panted and writhed as one, the music reaching its crescendo, until it broke over us and I crumpled in a heap as he let out a rough, savage snarl and broke off, the song coming to an abrupt halt as he let his arms drop and clenched his fists at his sides.

We stayed there for several long minutes and I blushed as I realized what had happened. The music hadn't given either of us that magic release, but it had certainly started the fire. Even after he'd stopped playing I had to curl up into a ball on the floor, striving to ignore the desperate urge screaming for indulgence. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him, sitting rigid and unmoving on the bench. What was to happen next? Would he notice that I was here? If he did, would he bend to desire and would I even try to resist? Or would he not notice and…end his agonies some other way?

_Love him I might, but I'd rather not witness that…_

My body hummed and throbbed and I twitched involuntarily, whimpering slightly. He turned at my noise and got to his feet, if a bit unsteadily. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice gruff and harsh.

"I'm sorry," I replied, my own voice shaking slightly. "I didn't mean—I didn't want to intrude, but—" I stopped and tried to steady myself, slowly sitting up and breathing deeply. "What _was _that—that music?" Music! It seemed to simple and unassuming a word for what I'd just heard.

"That was _Don Juan Triumphant,_" he replied tersely.

His opera. "I've never heard that before."

"Didn't you go to rehearsals?"

"I wasn't cast, so there was no need."

He grunted and shifted uncomfortably. I rubbed my arms vigorously with my hands, trying to get rid of the goose bumps as I waited for him to speak again. "The performance didn't reach that part," he told me. "Don Juan was very triumphant indeed."

Damn! More goose bumps! "It sounded so…" I fished for words, "so…"

"I know," he said.

"Menacing," I said. "Under the desire and…"

"Lust," he supplied.

"Yes. Under all that, it was so…terrifying. Like some wild beast waiting in the dark to devour the first creature to cross its path."

"Do you think so?"

I nodded. He held out his hand and helped me to my feet. I stood, my legs feeling like water beneath me, and looked up at him. God, the heat from those eyes! I felt he could burn me if he didn't look away, or at least blink!

"I need to leave you here for a while," he said. "They've finished work on the auditorium, and the managers are supposed to offer their approval today."

My heart sank. We'd argued about this often enough, but I couldn't keep from saying, "Erik, we can't stay here. We need to leave."

"Where else would we go, Vivienne?" he asked sharply. "There's nowhere else in the world for us to hide." He turned to leave, then glanced back at me, still pale, weak, and trembling. "Might I suggest a cold bath?" he offered. "Just don't stay in the tub too long."

I widened my eyes at the suggestion and its implication as he walked away. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

What was I doing? I had no intention of going to the auditorium, but I couldn't remain in the same room with her. She'd caught me in the middle of that torture I'd been putting myself through more frequently as of late. My hunger for her was enough to put me out of my right mind, but through some morbid twist I always ran to my opera when it grew too strong. I still had one copy of the manuscript in my possession; the ones I'd supplied the managers with were long since lost. I would play myself into a frenzy until I felt I would fly apart at the seams, then deny myself the satisfaction my body craved.

I wouldn't force myself upon Vivienne, but I knew she would never choose to give herself to me until she had the assurance of my love. Alas, my love wasn't something I could give easily. It had been cast aside too often, and it had wrought more destruction than anything that goes by the name "love" should.

I thought I had grown accustomed to pain over the years, but it seemed I had become more of a masochist. I tormented myself with what would never be mine. I could turn it all around with three simple words, but it was astounding how difficult it was to do so. Maybe in the mire of my soul there was still some part of me yet innocent enough to accept the words, the emotions and the deeds as the canvas, pigments and brushes, and until I had assembled all the tools I refused to paint the picture.

So why did I continue to dwell on that godforsaken opera? I had written it in a paroxysm of rage, pain and the twisted thing I'd called love. It had been a bloodletting, and I had drained myself dry in those months I spent finishing it. Considering the state of madness I'd been in for most of that time, perhaps it wasn't to be wondered that the beast within had found its outlet there. Vivienne had heard it in an instant, yet I'd been deaf to its roar.

I shook my head to clear it and stared out at the lake. It was almost three years ago I'd watched that boy sail away with—what was she to me now? A memory? No, that couldn't be it. She was something more than that, but still nothing that could be real. A ghost, perhaps…that was fitting. After years of haunting the Opera House, the Opera Ghost was visited by phantoms of his own.

The thought was enough to bring a half-hearted, self-deprecating smile to my face. Here I was, a grown man, still running off on flights of fancy. Maybe I should go to the auditorium after all, if only to give myself some kind of anchor to reality. And fools they may be, but it was always wise to know what my managers were up to.

I made my way up through the cellars until I emerged backstage in the theater. I ascended into the rafters, the builders not being kind enough to have installed the catwalks yet. The view up here was better, but it would be harder to hear this high above things.

Casting my eyes downward, I scanned the auditorium for a sign of Messrs. Richard and Moncharmin. Perhaps I was early, or they were late…no, there they were, slowly making their way up the newly carpeted aisle and looking all about them at the gilded balconies and velvet seats. It wasn't just Pandora, Isis, Galatea and the other figures staring down at them as they inspected everything. Richard wasn't so bad; being something of a musician himself, he seemed genuinely concerned that the Opera House be restored to the work of art it had been before I destroyed it. Moncharmin, however, was more worried about the mere splendor and opulence of the building. I supposed he wasn't a terrible businessman, but he was still little more than an idiot and a pretender and he definitely didn't belong at the Paris Grand Opera.

I left off my musings as they drew closer and strained my ears to catch what they were saying.

"—magnificent job, Moncharmin," Richard told his companion. "It looks just as it did before."

"Exactly my point," Moncharmin replied. "If you ask me, the Palais Garnier has been given the chance to turn over a new leaf. Forget restoration, I say we should focus our efforts on renovation."

"You know those plans would never have been approved," Richard said dryly. "_M. le ambassadeur _was insistent that we follow the original designs…in _every _way."

"My dear Richard, there's no question we should extend the construction into the catacombs! All that space beneath our feet is going to waste! It's impractical!"

Into the catacombs!

"Not nearly as impractical as renovating the blasted catacombs," Richard retorted. "Next you'll be on about draining the lake to make room for an annexation of the Opera stable! Think of the cost; the time, the effort, the money!"

I leaned closer, anxious to catch every word. If work did indeed extend that far down, it would get very…uncomfortable.

"It's sheer foolishness," Richard continued. "You only want to go to the catacombs to see if the rumors are true."

"What rumors?"

"You know the rumors, Moncharmin."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"The devil you don't. The word among the workers is that _he's _still here."

"He?"

"You know…"

Get to the point, monsieur. There's no sense in skirting the issue.

"The Phantom."

Bravo.

"Nonsense, Richard. He's long gone."

"They say he hasn't. I lose count of how many men tell me they see a figure in the shadows and Devereaux told me just last week he heard a voice backstage tell him to mind installing the new chandelier lest history repeat itself."

Damn! I thought I'd have a laugh at that dolt's expense, but I should have known better than to expose myself.

"And long before that, people have been trespassing here for years, and you won't believe those ghost stories, if you'll pardon the pun."

I'd heard enough. I abandoned my lookout in the rafters and crept back below the stage before proceeding down to the underbelly of the Opera House.

I could only hope the ambassador of the arts would put a stop to this new fancy of Moncharmin's, because if I stepped in to halt the progress myself, the game was up. And it wasn't just my own safety I was responsible for now. I had to think of Vivienne and what would happen to her if another mob scourged the fifth cellar.

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to leave here…

I quickly dismissed the thought. There was no place on earth for us to go. Then I remembered how I'd left her, shaken, unnerved, and—no point in denying it—aroused. I'd been brusque and dismissive, embroiled as I was in my own frustration. It was thoughtless and rude of me; I kept forgetting I had to be gentle with her.

She was curled up on the sitting room sofa and half asleep when I returned. She came to life as I sat down and asked, "What happened with the managers?"

"Nothing," I replied, silently adding, "that you should trouble yourself with." I looked her over. Not only was she half asleep, but her hair was half damp, as though she'd ducked underwater recently. _Ah yes, my parting shot._

"I'm sorry you heard that earlier," I said. "I don't suppose the world really was ready for _Don Juan _yet and I'm afraid it was too much for you."

"It wasn't too much," she told me, "it was just—so much, if that makes any sense."

I gave her a quizzical look and she tried to explain. "I suppose it was like diving into a pool that's far, far deeper than you first imagined, and it's a lot to take in but you still want to know just how deep it is and you're tempted to swim straight to the bottom and even drown, if it means that you learn. Of course, I don't know how to swim, so it would be more like sinking to the bottom with no say in the matter—but that's not what I meant either! I think—well—do you understand?"

"Your metaphor was undoubtedly poetic," I told her, "but I'm afraid you've lost me, my dear."

She sighed. "I wish I could just show you," she muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. But Erik, that music was…I can't even describe it. It just went beyond words and straight into feeling."

"Yes, well…" I cleared my throat and nodded.

"Was that how you felt—back then? About Christine?"

_Mon Dieu. _I felt I would rather talk about anyone else to anyone else. My instinct was to remain silent, but something in me made me speak. "Yes, it was. It was sheer madness. I'd never felt any of those things before and of course, I couldn't feel any of them in a sensible, moderate fashion. It was a prison of the mind and soul, Vivienne. I would never wish such a thing upon you. The music was the only way I could find relief."

"But why do you keep playing it, if it was so terrible?"

I sighed. "I guess I'm still imprisoned."

She was quiet for a long time and I wondered if the conversation had ended. Then she said, "You can write new music, though, can't you? Something that would free you and let you escape that prison?"

I stared at her. The flames in the grate were reflected in her eyes, making them sparkle and glow, and her hair tumbled onto her shoulders in an unruly mane of fire. Her very aura was magnificent, radiating hope and life and so many possibilities. I could almost see the air around her shine, not with what could have been but what could still be. I felt I was in the presence of a goddess.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, I think I could."

She smiled slightly and yawned. "I think I'm going to bed." She rose and walked to the hall, then turned in the doorway. "Are you coming?"

"In a minute," I replied. "Go on ahead. I'll be there shortly."

She nodded and disappeared. I went to my room, collected the manuscript for _Don Juan Triumphant_, and returned to the sitting room. I stood before the fire, clutching my masterpiece in my hands.

It was as poisonous as the rest of my memories. I'd been the victim of it all for so long, but now…if I wasn't quite ready to dive in, I was at least willing to test the water.

I threw the score onto the fire and walked away without a second glance. Tomorrow, I had music to write.

**Now here's my predicament. So far, I've not written anything I'd be too mortified to have my mother read, but it looks more and more like things are going to get rather racy in the lair. To censor, or not to censor? I'll leave it up to you guys. I'm setting up a poll on my profile, so if you want me to up the ante (and the rating), let me know. If you want me to keep this thing on a leash, let me know. The voting will be open until I get to the good stuff, so you'll have plenty of time to make yourselves heard. Majority rules, so don't forget to vote!**


	25. Chapter 25

**Well, I had no idea you guys were so geared up for stuff that wouldn't fit in a T rating! ;)**

**Here it is, take it or leave it, and more is on the way.**

_Vivienne_

The Erik that came to my room that night was not the brooding, haunted genius I'd spent the past year with. There was something in the smile I sensed rather than saw, the new degree of tenderness in his good night kiss, and in the song that he invoked with the violin that held a note of light and optimism. He actually sang as he played that night, a rare enough thing though I'd often longed to hear his voice. I kept my eyes on him for as long as I could keep them open and fell asleep smiling.

The change carried over into the morning. If he wasn't quite bursting with some new something, he was at least brimming over with it. We completed my music lesson, then he shooed me away and I heard him play something different, something new. I'd never heard this before, and I had a feeling it was connected to his new mood. Bits and pieces echoed through the house, but they were broken and varied and I could hear him talking and cursing to himself as he fit them together.

I tried to coax out of him what this new music was about, but he either ignored me or told me to wait and see. I began to dream of it at night, when the most wonderful melodies would wrap me in a cocoon of song and caress me ever so tenderly. I kept myself amused during the hours when Erik was at work by composing little harmonies to the dream music, but it couldn't keep my thoughts from drifting to the music that was denied me.

It's not entirely fair to say he neglected me in this time. On the contrary, he couldn't have been more gentle and attentive. But there's something in the feminine nature that is drawn to the hidden and the unknown and I felt myself drawn to this mysterious music.

I sat on his bed watching him play Gounod when I interrupted. "When will you play me what you've been working on lately?"

"When it's finished," he replied, "and not a moment before."

"Well, when will it be finished?" I asked, rising and going to his side. The music sat there on the organ in plain sight, sheaves of paper covered with red ink. "Can I at least take a look at it?" I went on, reaching out to take it.

He swatted my hand away and rebuked, "Absolutely not. You can see it when I've finished it. Now sit back down and behave yourself."

I tapped my foot in mild annoyance and backed away several steps. He turned back to the instrument, satisfied that I had obeyed, and I let him think he'd gotten his way for a while before I darted forward and snatched the top few sheets of music.

"Vivienne!" he exclaimed. "What do you think you're doing? Give that back right now!"

I shook my head, exhilarated by my triumph, and replied, "Come and get it."

He rolled his eyes, but I saw the trace of a grin on his face before I spun on my heel and fled the room laughing. He was close behind me; I couldn't hear him, but I could feel his presence. I ran for my bedroom, but he flung himself in front of the door and I altered my course for the sitting room. He would catch me eventually, but I was enjoying the game too much to quit.

I led him into the room and shot straight to the hearth, putting the sofa between us. He stood opposite me, watching me closely with that shadow of a smile still in place, and I couldn't look at him without feeling my legs go weak and shaky. God, those eyes…they were throwing sparks with the intensity of his stare. My heart, already pounding from the chase, was relentless, beating furiously against my ribs until I thought they would crack. I wanted him to keep looking at me, and at the same time I couldn't handle the feelings his glance inspired.

I made as if to run to the left, but he copied my movement and I halted again. I felt another, rather breathless laugh rise in my throat as I tried to escape to the right. He was faster, catching me up in his arms and lifting me off my feet as he spun me around. Was it by accident that we fell onto the sofa as we did? All I knew was that I found myself on my back, gazing up into his eyes as he lay on top of me and still clutching me in his embrace. My laughter died away and my mind felt foggy. How could that light in his eyes be so familiar and new all at once? He paused, then kissed me.

I closed my eyes and leaned in closer, parting my lips and inviting him in. His tongue found mine and I gave a shiver of delight as he stroked my neck with his fingertips. I felt some reservations in the back of my mind but I cast them aside. I couldn't stand it anymore. I just wanted him.

He kissed my forehead, my nose, and my lips again. "My fiery little phoenix," he murmured.

_Yes, Erik, yours. Only ever yours. I love you so much…_

He slipped a hand between our bodies and…_oh, yes_…cupped my breast. I cursed these cumbersome layers of clothing separating us; I wanted his skin against mine with no barriers and no inhibitions. _Please, Erik, please…_

His lips on my neck were like fire, the way they seared me and sparked that warmth in my blood. I rose up to meet him, my breath catching in my chest. "Erik," I whispered. "Don't stop."

He held me tighter, then released me and got to his feet again. My eyes snapped open in surprise and disappointment and I saw him scoop up the music I'd dropped when he grabbed me only moments before. "I'm sorry, darling," he said. "Not yet. It's not time."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Erik, I love you and I want to prove it to you."

"That's just what I mean," he told me. "You want to prove yourself to me, but this isn't the way. You don't have to do this to prove anything. And it's not fair to you if I make love to you when I'm still caught up in how things used to be. So when this finally happens, I want it to be for the right reasons. Is that all right?"

I sighed and stood. "I…suppose so. It's just—Erik, this is all so much, I just don't think I can take much more before I throw myself at your feet and beg you to do with me what you will."

"Oh, I have every intention of doing just that in time," he assured me. "But not yet."

I glanced at the papers he held in his hand. "Does this have anything to do with the music you've been writing?" I asked.

The corners of his mouth twitched as though he was about to smile, but he didn't say a word.

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

Well, this certainly threw things into a spin. How was I supposed to stay rational and in control now that I knew she desired this just as much as I did?

I don't know how we did it, but we made it through the rest of the day without further lapse in restraint. After dinner, she left for her room to bathe and dress for the night. I did my best to keep busy, but my mind began wander…

With silent footsteps I tried not to consider predatory, I crept down the hall to her bedroom door. It was closed and I stopped outside it, staring at the wood as though I could see through it. Maybe I couldn't, but I could imagine. Would she be undressing on the other side, or would she go fully clothed into the bathroom to fill the tub first? I could see her, her slim hands unfastening the clasps of her gown and letting it fall to the floor at her feet. In my mind, she was stepping out of the puddle of fabric and opening the door for me, turning around so I could help her out of her corset. She trembled at my touch and sighed as I worked the laces, leaning back into me and pressing her soft body into mine. She took my hands and guided them over her form, one at her breast and the other reaching down, down, down where I'd touched her once before and she began to moan and mewl as I touched her again—

I flung open the door and burst into an empty room. Was I relieved she wasn't there, or irritated that the fantasy had come to an end? The bathroom door was ajar, and I could hear movement beyond. I wondered if she knew I was there…

What would happen if I went in to her? She wouldn't resist; she would give in only too readily. Don't ask me why, but she actually wanted it, she wanted my touch on her hand, my kiss on her lips, my body joined to hers. No one had ever wanted so much from me, though I had imagined such a thing so many times. It could be mine now; all I had to do was open the door.

I reached out for the knob—

The door swung open and she appeared. I barely had time to register that she certainly wasn't clothed before she saw I was there and burst out, "Erik!"

"I'm sorry!" I replied, looking away.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, I was—I'm sorry, I just—I—what are _you _doing?"

"I left my night gown in the dresser," she said. Her voice sounded muffled, and I chanced a look and saw that she had closed the door again. "If you'll…turn around, I can run out and get it—"

"No, let me," I offered, going to the dresser and rifling through the drawers until I found the dress. I tapped on the door and she opened it a crack, reaching her hand out to take it from me. "Thank you," she said.

"Don't mention it," I muttered, leaving the room again and closing the bedroom door with a decisive snap.

What the hell was wrong with me? I'd just told her it was too early yet for us to be thinking about that, and not twelve hours later I was storming her bedroom trying to catch a glimpse of her naked! But no, that wasn't quite so…the moment I'd registered that she was, in fact, naked, I'd gone chivalrous and averted my lusting gaze.

She'd called me a hypocrite once before and oh how right she'd been. I acted in opposition to my words, and even acted against my own actions. Maybe I really was more talk than anything, at least when it came to her. She had me in the palm of her hand, she really did.

I kept to my own bedroom until she came in. I knew I was blushing like an idiot when her eyes met mine, but I was still embarrassed she'd caught me.

"You could probably fry an egg on your face right now," she joked.

"It might be an improvement," I replied, trying to match her tone.

She came to sit on the bench beside me and said, "You're just going to pretend that never happened, aren't you?"

"I'd planned on it," I confessed. "I was going to apologize first, though."

"It's all right," she assured me, then added shyly, "I wouldn't have said no, if you'd come in."

"I know. But…" I felt like enough of a fool; I wasn't going to tell her I'd spent the past half hour chiding myself for my faux pas and thinking that perhaps, after all, I wouldn't have had the nerve to go in to her and act on my desire. I hungered for her, but for all my flirting and innuendo, I had no idea what I was doing. "I thought you were going to bed."

"I am," she said. "Coming?"

I stood with her, hiding my awkwardness as best I could and following her down the hall. She got into bed and I sat down on the couch. I reached for my violin, then stopped and said, "I didn't see anything. I mean, I saw you, but I didn't—_see _you."

"Don't worry about it," she told me. "Really, it's fine."

"No, it's not," I replied. "I wasn't going to say anything, but I'm scared about this, Vivienne. Not just about feeling something like this, but following through with it. I know when the time comes I'll want to satisfy you, but I'm worried I'll be so afraid I'll ruin everything."

She watched me for a moment, then said, "I'm scared too, Erik. You know more about these things than I do. I'm afraid I won't know how to please you. And…" she trailed off and I saw her swallow hard.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's just that…it…"

"What?"

She looked down at her hands twisted up in the blankets and said, "It hurt that time. It hurt so much I had to crawl away. I couldn't even walk with any dignity. I don't want it to hurt again."

"Oh, little phoenix…" I felt a pang for her and what she'd suffered, what she continued to suffer. I abandoned my place on the sofa and sat down beside her on the bed, putting my arm around her and holding her to me. "It will be different, I promise. We'll just have to learn together, won't we?"

She nodded silently.

"You know I'd never hurt you, right?"

She nodded again.

I kissed her and got up again, drawing the covers up over her as she lay down. I went back to the sofa and began to play, playing until she fell asleep. Then I slipped from the room, just as I'd done every night for the past week. I went to the organ and got to work on the new music. It had to be finished first, before I could think of the future. It had expressed my pain, longing, and loneliness, and now it would have to express my love for her, my phoenix. My Vivienne.

**If I don't see you before then, have a great new year!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Hello, all! This one gave me quite a bit of trouble, but I think it turned out all right. You'll have to let me know how I did. ;-)**

_Vivienne_

My dreams were filled with music once again, telling me stories and speaking truths I heard with my soul yet only half-remembered in the morning. I woke up feeling alert and refreshed, but saw Erik sitting wide awake on the sofa looking drained and weary.

"Didn't you sleep?" I asked.

"I don't often sleep much," he told me, "and I slept less than usual last night. It's nothing to worry about."

I slipped out of bed and went to sit next to him. "You've had bad dreams before," I said. "Was that the trouble?"

"Not at all. Merely the burden of an overwrought mind."

"Do you want to tell me about it? Maybe I can help."

He smiled at me and said, "All in good time, my dear. You'll see."

I nodded resignedly and kissed him on the cheek. He caught hold of me and drew me into his arms, kissing my mouth and running his fingers through my hair. I sighed and leaned closer, but he gently pushed me away and said, "Get dressed, you vixen. I can't have you running around half-naked all day."

I rolled my eyes. "Liar," I called him. "There's nothing that would please you more." To prove my point, I leaned away from him and shook my hair back then stretched lazily, baring my neck and letting my legs sneak out from beneath my night gown, putting more skin on display.

He eyed me hungrily and said, "Tease."

I shrugged and stood, going to the dresser and choosing a gown for the day. I sensed him follow me but pretended I didn't notice until he came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me and pulled me back into his chest. I shivered as I felt the proof of his desire against my back and let the gown fall from my hands. "Erik…" I purred.

"There are a great many things that would please me more, Vivienne," he murmured into my ear, "but I've already told you, you'll have to stop toying with me in the meantime."

"Who's toying with whom?" I questioned. "You can't keep enticing me like this and expect me to behave myself."

He chuckled and kissed my neck. I closed my eyes, feeling my legs go weak beneath me. He knew exactly what he was doing. I'd never offered any arguments yet when he kissed me there. "I've heard the anticipation intensifies the ecstasy," he said most roguishly.

"You're not helping!" I told him.

He laughed and kissed me one more time before releasing me and stepping away. "Don't even think of undressing until I've left the room," he warned. "I don't think I could survive such a seduction."

"Give me some more ideas, will you?" I replied, flashing a foxy grin. "Get out of here, if you're so concerned."

"Good Lord, I never dreamed you'd be so much trouble," he teased, winking before walking from the room and closing the door behind him.

I smiled to myself as I heard him singing down the hall while I dressed. He was certainly in a good mood this morning. As for me, I could still feel his touch on my body and, damn him, it made it very hard for me to act like a lady. I kept grinning and stealing glances at him throughout the day, injecting a suggestive comment or two into our conversation that, barring some sly and sideways looks, he mostly ignored.

He got his revenge for my coy behavior soon enough when he handed me the violin for my lesson. "It's time for you to learn vibrato," he announced.

I groaned. "It's not imperative that I learn, is it?" I complained. "I never could get the hang of it with my uncle teaching me."

"Well, I'm not your uncle, now am I?" he replied. "It's all in the wrist; here, I'll show you."

"You'd know more about wrist movement than I would, with all those 'informative texts' of yours," I muttered mutinously.

"Watch it, you," he said, taking the violin back and setting it on his shoulder. He extended his arm and set his fingers and the bow on the strings, slowly rocking his hand back and forth as he worked the bow, producing a single note that wobbled in a manner that seemed to have its own echo. "There's nothing too difficult about it," he told me. "Just start slow." He returned the instrument. "You try."

I sighed and copied his motions, but the sound wasn't nearly as enchanting as when he did it. "This will never work," I prophesied. "You've got a nightingale here, but it doesn't obey me like it does you. It knows you better."

"Nonsense. You just have to keep at it." He sat down to watch me struggle, offering advice and correction when my technique fell short. "You're slouching again…keep your hands loose…you don't have to concentrate so hard, you know."

"Oh, but I do," I replied. "If I falter for an instant, I just might throw this thing across the room in a temper."

"You wouldn't dare," he said unaffectedly. "But if it's such a trial, I suppose we can stop for today. God forbid you should strain yourself."

I set the uncooperative instrument down and announced, "I'm bored."

"You're impossible, do you know that?" he asked as he took the violin for himself and began to play—with breathtaking vibrato, of course. "Sit still and listen, if you want."

"I want to listen to what you've been writing lately," I said.

"Too bad," he told me. "You're going to have to wait."

"I want to go up on the roof and look at the stars."

"Another miss. If you absolutely must go, I'll take you later, but I'm not up to it at the moment."

"You mean you'd actually let me out of the house?"

"If it means I don't have to listen to your nagging, then yes, under close supervision."

Inside, I was cheering my victory, but I settled with, "Admit it, you old ghoul, you want fresh air too."

"It might surprise you what you can learn to live without if you put your mind to it," he said. "Fresh air was hardly worth the price I've had to pay for it. There's no sun and no stars down here, but here at least I'm free."

I edged nearer to him. "Tell me what it's been like for you. I still know so little about what you've done before you came here. You've mentioned your family once, and you said something about an old gypsy…"

"It's a long story, Vivienne," he told me, "and I thought you were already bored."

"Just talk to me, and that voice of yours is enough to keep me enthralled," I informed him, "but I'm sure you already knew that."

He played in silence for another minute or two, then slowly began, "I haven't given anyone my life story before, so count yourself lucky in that respect."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Why would I tell anyone?" he shot back. "Who would want to know?"

"You mean, besides me?"

"If that's how you want it, then fine, but do you want to hear this or not?"

I nodded, vowing not to interrupt again.

He gave me one more suspicious look, then said, "My mother hated me from the moment I was born. She was the one who gave me my first mask. She wanted nothing to do with me and kept as far away from me as possible. Maybe it was because of her behavior, or maybe he just didn't care, but my father wasn't much better. He didn't call me 'demon spawn' or 'monster' like she did; at times, I would wonder if he knew I even existed. He never even saw my face, do you know? Maybe I should have taken off my mask in front of him once or twice…then I would have been certain of his attention."

He still played as he spoke, every word uttered with a bland detachment that amazed me. "You grew up like that?" I asked.

"Not for long. I ran away when I was still fairly young. I tried to make my own way, but I was still rather inexperienced and inept, if you can imagine."

I let out a snort that I turned into a cough. I had a hard time believing Erik had ever been inept.

"It's true, you know," he insisted. "I got too close to a gypsy camp one night and they caught me. They kept me locked in a cage most of the time and put me on display as a freak of nature for visitors to their fairs. It does horrible things to you, to have only the memory of freedom when you're staring through iron bars and feeling them go up around your spirit until you can't even recognize the frightened, half-dead creature you've become. I wasn't much more than a boy, but even then I could see what was happening to me, and being powerless to stop it was the worst part. You might be able to relate, my dear.

"It was there that I learned to play the violin, as you already know. They started letting me roam the camp after a time once they were satisfied I wouldn't try to run away. I was an outsider, like one of them, and I had nowhere else to go. Casamir was almost completely blind, so he didn't have much to say about the way I looked, and while I wouldn't have called him a friend, he put up with me. Once I found the music, Vivienne, it sparked life in me again, and I wanted to escape them all. They learned I could sing and they made me perform for the crowds, and while it was humiliating to be their trained monkey, the music gave me strength."

"How did you get away?" I asked.

"I killed my handler," he said simply. "I traveled Europe after that, and I ended up in Persia at the royal court. I still have no idea how that nightmare came about, but I became the shah's favorite toy. I was his magician, his spy, his assassin…whatever he asked of me, I did without question. Finally, after so long of being weak and defenseless at the hands of others, I had the power. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't develop a taste for it. It was nearly ambrosial, the most potent, intoxicating thing you can dream of. If you'd crossed my path then, I would have disposed of you on sight just for my own amusement."

I admit it; I felt a chill at his words. They were so matter-of-fact and put so expressionlessly I had no trouble accepting them as truth. "But?"

"I came to enjoy my power too much for the shah's liking. He wanted to get rid of me, and eventually he ordered me to be executed. If it weren't for the help of a state official I had rendered some small services to, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation. I came back to France and made my way to Paris, and I eventually settled in down here where I've been living ever since. I've done my best to forget everything that happened before then, but some memories remain."

I sat stunned as he played on composedly. His account was unembellished and only hinted at what he must have gone through, and my imagination ran wild as I wondered how on earth he could have made it through all of that. It was a feat lesser mortals could only hope to accomplish. "So…how old are you, exactly?" I asked lamely. "You said a long time ago you helped to build the Opera House, and with all your other travels and…experiences, I rather doubt you're not much older than me."

"Well, of course," he agreed, "but I honestly don't know my age. It's not like my birthday was cause for celebration."

"You've never even celebrated your own birthday?"

"Does that really surprise you?"

I didn't answer for a while, but I worked up my nerve and asked, "What was it about Christine that was so special?"

He acted unmoved, but I heard him miss a note as he kept playing. "Why do you want to know?" he asked. "There's no cause for jealousy, trust me."

"I just want to know."

"Why?"

"I knew her," I said, "and she didn't seem…she wasn't…she's not the sort of woman I'd have imagined for you. She was so sweet and childish and didn't have an ounce of passion. She was far too innocent for the word 'passion' to even be in her vocabulary."

"And that's what drew me to her," he sighed wearily. "She was everything I wasn't. Where I was corrupt, she was pure; where I was darkness, she seemed like light itself. I can't explain it, but…" He stopped playing and lowered the violin. "Vivienne, please," he said, "please don't ask me about her again. I wanted her because…well, maybe because I believed her goodness would cancel out all the terrible things I'd known and make them go away. It was hard enough to be proved wrong without having my soul ripped out in the process."

"Is it so hard to let it all go?"

He laughed slightly. "I let it go months back," he said. "It's the thought of it all that won't let me go. I'm not one to accept defeat, though. Give me time, and I'll be rid of it yet."

"You promise?"

He smiled at me in that special way of his, when his eyes burned hotter and he seemed to know something I didn't. "With such a fiery little muse around, it's a solemn vow." 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I was in my usual place on the sofa in her room hours later, watching her as she slept. Her red mane fell about her face as it always did and the sound of her breathing was so calm and untroubled. She was peace incarnate.

I thought back to our conversation earlier. She was about Christine's age, but there couldn't have been a greater contrast between them. She was blossoming from the scared, scarred girl I'd found into a fierce, passionate woman before my eyes. She had a mind of her own and a heart to match. Christine had had passion, but I'd often wondered whether it was hers or the reflection of mine. With Vivienne, there was no need to wonder. If she was the wild, untamed creature I suspected she truly was, she could burn more savagely and aggressively than the sun in the desert.

So what was Christine still doing in my mind where she didn't belong?

I left Vivienne's room and went to work more on the new music, but my thoughts kept drifting where I didn't want them to. I was trying to move on, I needed to move on, and there was still a chain holding me back that wouldn't break no matter how hard I tried to free myself. I recognized the bars around me from so long ago and I had been throwing myself against them for so long, but they just wouldn't give way. It had started long ago, but it had only gone from bad to worse with _her._

I reached into my pocket and took out the ring she'd left behind. If the Devil could take up residence in an ordinary golden band, then he would choose this one. As far as I was concerned, it was the symbol of my hell, encircling me in damnation while salvation lay just outside my reach. What did I have to do to escape? How long did I have to crawl before I could fly? Damn it all, I only wanted the chance to love and be loved like anyone else! Was I so different I didn't deserve that chance, or had I already lost it along the road I'd paved with sins and sadness?

No, it couldn't be that way!

Could it?

I stood and slammed the fist clutching the ring into the wall. What was wrong with me? I was so close to everything I'd ever wanted, but I couldn't take it! I wanted to reach out and catch it in my hand like fruit from the vine, but somewhere, some part of me still shrank back as though fearful of poison. What could she have done to me that wounded me so badly?

That simple little ring was cutting into my palm as if it were intent on drawing blood and leaving a scar. Was that all that was missing, the final visible proof of the worst I'd suffered? Scars were a testament to despair, and Vivienne already bore hers. Maybe I needed this one injury before I could be like her and turn my back on the pain…

If I could only be like her…but we were already so alike. Two separate individuals had rarely been so like each other. We were a pair, she and I.

My eyes widened in a sudden revelation. That was what I'd wanted and what had gone so wrong. Christine had been my foil, not my counterpart. We might have balanced each other out had we been just a little different, a little more similar. But no, it didn't work like that. Contrasting melodies can harmonize, but the result is clashing, chaotic conflict. Before the best counterpoint can come to life, the parts must first fit together as natural as life itself. It wasn't like that with Christine. It was different now. That must mean that it was safe to surrender the power to someone else.

But still, old habits die hard, and power was the issue once again. I'd confessed to Vivienne that I was fond of power, having been without any for too long. The Phantom had been the image of power while he had reigned. It had begun to slip away from me when everything fell apart and now that things were different, I'd found that some things don't change. This time, though, I was terrified of keeping the power for myself. If I held the reins, I could break my little phoenix with the sheer force of what I felt and what I'd kept inside my whole life. This was different…this felt real…and reality felt overwhelming.

_Then all you have to do is forget about power, _I told myself. _Just let it go, and it will be all right. _

Let it go and it would be all right? That sounded like a contradiction by virtue. Letting go meant disaster, calamity and upheaval; that's what experience had taught me.

_Experience has nothing to do with this, _I reminded myself. _You learn from experience, and you do things differently the next time around._

But I didn't want there to be a next time around! I didn't want another tragedy to play itself out before my eyes with me unable to stop it!

I let out a groan of frustration and dropped to my knees on the floor. Why did it always have to hurt like this? Why was something always there to hold me back?

I stayed there staring at the ground asking myself over and over again, why? Why? Why? I didn't move and I didn't blink, and the only thing I could really feel was the steady pounding of my heart in my chest. I focused on it as the only real thing in the world and tried to lay aside everything else as I tried to understand. _Please, _I prayed, _just this once, let me understand…_

It came first in a single note, a single heartbeat. Soon, it was joined by another and they merged with even more until I heard a relentless, unbroken rhythm I'd known since I was born yet only now saw for what it was. Every beat was just like the one before it, and every last one was evidence that life carried on between every passing breath and as long as it did there was a chance for something to happen. It could be terrible or terrific, wondrous or horrendous, and there was no way of knowing exactly what would come. All that could be known for certain was the next beat, the next breath, and even those would cease eventually. Maybe the thought that it would end was really what kept us going, but it suddenly seemed foolish to let it be all that kept us back. I knew better than most how the world can change in one moment, and here I was wasting the only moments I would ever be allotted.

I heard a voice in my ear: "She's not what's holding you back; you're the one doing that to yourself."

God in Heaven, she was right. I'd seen it wrong the whole time. She'd been trying to tell me and I wouldn't listen. My memories only had the power I chose to give them, and I'd been the one who couldn't let them go. I was so convinced that the next time would be just like the last time and taking it as a constant thing, assuring myself that it was better not to try again. I really was a hypocrite! I'd boasted about never accepting defeat but I'd been the one to defeat myself all these years!

It was over now. It wouldn't go on any longer because I refused to let it anymore.

I looked down at my clenched fist and opened my fingers. A simple ring that I'd let torment me these past three years could become nothing more than a ring again…

I got to my feet and strode from the room, sweeping down the hall until I came to the door upon the lake. I opened it and stepped outside, not stopping until I came to the edge of the water. I studied it and that little piece of metal one more time, then drew back my arm and threw it.

The splash was so tiny I nearly missed it, but it was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard. It all began now; I would start again with no more fear and no more doubt, letting all that I'd allow to bring me down sink into oblivion and lay below that black water until the end of time.

I turned back and went into the house. I still had music to write and it would at last be something of real worth.

**We're getting there! And I notice that some of you have voted...we'll have to see what happens.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Check it out! You guys have gotten this thing up to 100 reviews! Hot fudge sundaes all around!**

**I had to work with an extremely abstract concept in this chapter and I'm not entirely sure how well it translated into words, so you'll have to tell me how I did and forgive me if I blew it. And away we go!**

****_Vivienne_

A cool touch on my cheek brought me back from a dreamless sleep. I smiled without even opening my eyes and reached up to take his hand. He twined his fingers through mine and I felt him kiss me softly and tenderly. Sleep still had me in its grip; it had an illusory feeling of magic and mystique and the taste of his lips became the only thing that could be real. He drew away again and kissed me on the forehead.

"I love you," I whispered.

He caressed my face again and said, "Go back to sleep, little one."

I obeyed readily, letting the sound of his voice carry me back to that place in my mind where music floated through my dreams. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I crept through the cellars on my way to the upper world. I had to make my customary inspection of the theater before going out, and I had to be back before Vivienne awoke and missed me. The time had come to finish the music, but there were a few things I had to do first.

I contemplated my plan along my road. The music had always been the voice of my soul, allowing me to reveal everything I couldn't find words to say. If I succeeded with this new piece, she would come as close to that deepest part of me as she possibly could, but it wasn't enough for her to touch it. I wanted our souls to reach out and find each other, for us to understand once and for all that we didn't have to carry our burdens alone anymore. She would have to open herself to her innermost dreams and desires somehow…

There was noise in the foyer as the first of the workers began to arrive for the day. After finishing the auditorium, the construction had proceeded swiftly and decisively throughout the Opera until it was a mere matter of weeks before the Palais Garnier would be ready to start anew. I had paid careful attention to the word spreading among the crew, listening for the slightest hint of danger in regard to the catacombs. Moncharmin's plan to renovate them had been shot down, but now my concern was the curiosity of the men as they swapped stories of the ghost that used to haunt the theater and the man who had lived below it. So far it was only idle curiosity, but I dreaded the moment when someone decided to venture into the darkness to see just what hid beneath the Opera House.

A sigh escaped me. I snuck past the foyer and made my way outside, pulling the brim of my hat down low and drawing my scarf across my face to hide the mask I'd replaced before leaving the cellars. If my little phoenix was to finally fly, I would have to give her wings. 

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

I woke with a yawn and a stretch, opening my eyes and automatically searching for Erik. He wasn't on the sofa or even in the room as far as I could tell. I slid out of bed and put on my dressing gown before going down the hallway into his bedroom. He wasn't there either.

My eyes roved around the room, taking in the now-familiar sight of the eccentric, extravagant bed and the organ sitting opposite, with music strewn everywhere in between. I stopped at the stack that rested in a neat pile directly beside the organ, the music that was so important he wouldn't share it with me yet.

I crossed the room fearlessly and moved to take it—

Someone, and I had a shrewd idea who, scooped me up into his arms and carried me away from the instrument. I turned my head to see and sure enough, it was Erik. "I told you to be patient," he chided. "You'll see that music when it's finished." He carried me out of his room and set me down in the hall, his hand lingering at my waist. "It's about time you woke up," he went on. "Go on and get dressed. I have a few things planned for the day."

"What things?" I asked.

"You'll see," he repeated. "Now hurry or I'll change my mind."

"Well, how do I know I wouldn't rather you change your mind?"

He moved his hand to the small of my back and gave me a nudge up the hall. "Enough of your cheek," he told me. "I promise, you'll regret it if you miss out on this."

I rolled my eyes but went to my room anyway and got dressed. What could he possibly have in mind? Even more music lessons which were bound to be devoted to practicing vibrato? I dawdled as I changed my clothes, but I emerged soon enough and was surprised to see him waiting at the end of the hallway wrapped in a long black cloak. "Get your shoes," he said, "and put on something warm. It's cold outside."

"Where are we going?"

He smiled. "I believe you wanted fresh air?" he inquired.

My heart leapt and I hurried to snatch up a shawl and shoes, putting them on as I went down the hall to where he stood at the door. He opened it, took my hand, and led me out into the pitch darkness of the catacombs.

It was freezing once we'd left the house behind us. I could feel the chill settling into my hands and feet as we ascended to the theater. It was still so dark I couldn't see a thing but Erik led us without hesitation. In the silence I could hear the echoes of the construction above us, getting closer all the time. "We're not going through the theater, are we?" I asked.

"How else can we get to the roof?" he replied. "Don't worry, no one will see us."

"They might," I told him, "and then someone will put two and two together and realize that you're still here and they'll come looking for you."

"Don't worry, Vivienne. I know this theater intimately and can move around it without even leaving a shadow."

"You have a shadow this time. What if I'm seen?"

"You won't be. Come with me."

He guided me up to the backstage areas I'd used to explore with the other girls and led me to a ladder. He motioned for me to climb and I did, reaching the catwalk above in no time. He followed me, then led the way higher and higher still into the rafters. Looking around me, I could see the men at work, the first time I'd laid eyes on other humans in months. They took no notice of us…maybe they really didn't see us as we stole among them like thieves in the night. It was nerve-wracking and exhilarating to think we might be spotted at any moment.

Erik leaped from beam to beam silently as a panther and with just as much grace. I kept up as best I could, staying in the shadows as much as possible. We reached the door to the roof undetected, and he opened it to the outside world.

I stepped out, filling my lungs with the air. It was so cold it hurt to breathe deeply, but I ignored the ache in my chest and drank it in. I walked to the edge of the roof and gazed at the city around us. Paris lay at our feet beneath a silvery gray sky, the smoke from all the chimney stacks pearly white against the gloomy winter clouds. The people below went about their business and paid no mind to the two figures watching them from above. In the street just beyond the Rue Scribe I could make out a boy with a pennywhistle playing on the corner for coins—at least, it appeared to be a boy. I could well remember all the days I'd spent out there in the cold of January or the heat of August, standing for hours and waiting for someone to toss some change into the viola case at my feet. It had been miserable and lonely out there, but I'd never grasped just how lonely it was until Erik had found me. Men and women alike had just walked on by, never sparing me a glance or giving me a thought. I'd mattered to no one and served no purpose other than to put food on the table.

My thoughts drifted to my uncle, dead and buried in a grave I knew no one would visit, and my aunt, gone Heaven knew where. They were alone, and even when we'd been together we'd still been alone. We'd drifted away from each other long before that day I last saw them. It was a sad, sobering thought, but as I turned around and saw Erik standing behind me the sadness couldn't claim me. I wasn't alone anymore. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

She smiled at me and took my arm, drawing me forward to stand next to her. She'd begun to shiver slightly in the cold, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "We should go in," I told her.

"Just a few more minutes," she pleaded. "It looks like it might snow; I want to see it."

I considered it for a moment, then said, "All right, but only a few more minutes." I put my arm around her and wrapped her in my cloak. She nestled close to me and I felt the heat of her body warm me. Ah, the fire of her dear little soul…it wouldn't be long before those flames reached out with glowing fingers to surround me and swallow me whole. I pulled her closer still and kissed the top of her head.

The air was still and frigid, with that sharp stale taste that sears the back of your throat and usually precedes the snow. Our breath hung around us until it seemed that we were wreathed in smoke. She watched the sky and the city; I watched her. I had so many fond memories of this rooftop that her presence was a welcome comfort.

The minutes ticked by and we neither moved nor spoke. Every time I thought of taking her back inside, I would reconsider and wait just a little longer…just me and her above the rest of the world and for once at peace with our lot…just a little longer…

Eventually the clouds broke and the initial flurry soon gave way to a proper snowfall. I heard her laugh with satisfaction, then she held out her hand to catch the flakes. They floated down to her palm and melted the instant they touched her skin, and she wiggled her fingers and said, "I've always loved the snow. When I was little, I used to go and stretch my arms out as if to hold the sky in my hands and I would dance in it as it came down."

I smiled at the thought and said, "I can imagine it."

We continued to watch it for a moment, then she stepped away from me and held her arms above her head, laughing and spinning as the snow caught in her hair and on her cheeks and nose. Her eyes glowed merrily as she began to dance, twirling and gliding as she'd done in her room so long ago. I felt a wonderful warmth deep within me as I watched her, something stronger than plain affection, wilder than mere joy, and more powerful than simple desire. I'd pushed the feeling aside before, but now I clung to it. I needed to hold it close and allow it to fill my soul if I was to convey every last breath of it to her. The snow kept coming down, and with every falling flake I loved her more.

She danced right into a slick patch on the tile and gasped in surprise as she slipped. I moved to catch her but lost my footing as well and only succeeded in falling with her. She laughed and said, "That was graceful."

"It's your fault," I bantered back. "It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't insisted on gamboling around in the elements."

We helped each other to stand and she went on, "Admit it, though, you're glad you came up here."

I looked down at her, her face shining with delight and her nose pink with cold. _Hold on to it, _I told myself. _Don't let it out of your sight, and do it right this time._

"All right, you caught me," I replied. "I'm glad."

She beamed at me and said, "I suppose you want to steal me away into your fortress again."

"As a matter of fact, I do," I informed her. "I have a few more things planned."

I wouldn't say any more, but I'd roused her curiosity and she snuck back through the Opera House and to the cellars without a single word of protest. We reached the lake, and on an impulse I asked, "Would you rather take the boring way home, or go a new way?"

"What new way?"

"Across the lake." I took her by the hand and led her through the darkness to where I kept the boat moored. It looked fittingly ghostly in the gloom, but it was perfectly reliable. I'd had some unpleasant experiences on this lake with crafts that weren't seaworthy, and I preferred to avoid more of them. "You've gone this way before," I told her, "but you won't remember it."

"Why?"

"You were unconscious." She nodded, and I couldn't resist adding, "Both times."

She slapped my arm playfully then said, "But I don't know how to swim."

"Well, as long as you don't dive over the side, I'm sure you'll be all right," I replied. "Do you want to?"

She shrugged, then nodded again. I stepped into the boat and helped her in as well, then slipped the mooring, took up the pole, and rowed. The dark enveloped us without even the slightest glimmer of light on the water, but I could see perfectly. She was sitting curled up in the prow, peering sightlessly around her and looking so nervous I nearly laughed. "I haven't had many passengers," I said, "but I've never had one with so little faith in my rowing abilities."

"How can you tell where you're going?" she questioned.

"I can see well enough, and even if I couldn't, I know the Garnier so well I could find my way through its entirety blindfolded."

"I feel blindfolded right now," she bemoaned.

"You can rest easy," I assured her. "We're nearly there."

To emphasize my point, the boat bumped gently against the shore and I climbed out. After helping her to disembark, I dragged it further up the bank so it wouldn't float away, then went to the door and held it open for her. "To the sitting room," I told her. "The fire is still going and I want you to get warm."

She slipped off up the hall and I went to my bedroom, picking up the case I'd left inside the doorway. I followed her and found her kneeling at the hearth with her hands extended to the flames. _I wonder if they would accept her as their lover or spurn her as an intruder if she dared to get any closer, _I mused, then said aloud, "I have something for you."

She looked up and asked, "What is it?"

"Sit down and I'll give it to you," I replied.

She took a seat on the sofa and I set the case on her lap. She smiled wider than ever as she ran a hand along the wooden box and stroked the latches with her fingers. "You didn't," she said.

"Maybe, maybe not," I told her. "We won't know until you open it."

She unfastened the case and lifted the lid open and I cherished her wide-eyed expression of amazement and wonder as if it were Mozart's finest aria. 

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

My own violin…one I could call mine and mine alone…I caressed the polished body and fingered the scrolled head. It was mine, all mine. It lay snug in the padded lining, along with a bow so new the horsehair was still lily white. "Erik, you didn't," I murmured, already in love with the beautiful little thing.

"Clearly I did, or you wouldn't be fawning over it," he replied. "Now you can't blame an instrument that doesn't know you."

I took it out of the case, feeling the wood smooth as satin beneath my hands. I turned it to admire the whole instrument and saw my face reflected in the gleaming finish. "She's wonderful."

"She?"

"Of course. A creature this lovely can't possibly be an 'it' and she's too willowy to be a 'he.'"

"How odd, considering she's made of maple and ebony."

"Laugh all you like," I told him, "but she has a life of her own."

"Not yet she doesn't," he said. "She's waiting for someone to come and make her sing like a wild angel. She's still sleeping yet."

I held her out to him. "Then make her sing," I urged. "She'd be more than happy to sing for you."

He shook his head. "She's yours," he told me. "She'll sing for you. But there's a certain trick to setting her free, you know. You have to find that one most secret part of you that wants more than anything to fly with her. Let go of everything else and hold that wish in your heart; feel it deep inside you, lose yourself within it." He looked me straight in the eye and added, "And above all, you can't be afraid. You can't touch the sky if you're worried about what might happen when your feet leave the ground. You have to just leap and trust that you'll find your wings."

He spoke in hushed and reverent tones, filling me with a sense of awe and divinity. "Show me," I said.

He motioned for me to stand and took the violin, setting her down on the sofa. "Close your eyes," he whispered.

My eyes flickered shut and I could sense him all around me, circling me slowly. "It all starts in your blood," he said quietly, stopping so he stood in front of me. "Feel it rushing through you, that current that holds life in its waters. It flows faster and faster…" I felt his hand encircle my wrist and raise it up. "Your pulse quickens…" The touch of his lips against my skin was enough to erase the scar that marked it; I felt the slightest, sweetest tremor down my spine.

"It's in your heart now," he continued, and as he put his hand over it I could feel it pounding desperately. "It echoes in your ears, calling down to your soul." He put his other hand on my waist, stroking my side, and I nearly melted into him. "Can you feel it?" he whispered into my ear.

I nodded silently, too entranced to speak. My body wouldn't obey me, heeding instead his every tender word and following where he beckoned me. I fought down another shiver and he said, "Don't resist, Vivienne, or you'll never know how it feels to fly." He now ran his hand along my back, his fingers brushing against the nape of my neck before coming to cradle my head. "It's much more than carnal longing…so much more. It's all that makes you who you are reaching to become one with something you can't survive without. It's a yearning so profound it seems you just can't contain it a moment longer. It's greater than innocence, more subtle than hope, and more real than lust."

A tear made its way from behind my closed eyes and spilled onto my cheek. I felt lighter than air but chained to the earth, and I wanted to be free so badly that no price was too high. The thirst I felt in my spirit was at once more sustaining and more taxing than anything on earth. It filled me completely, making me tremble and tingle until I thought I might fall apart into nothing. "Erik," I breathed.

He held me to him and rocked me gently. "You really do feel it, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. "What do I do with it?"

We stood there for a few more minutes, then he released me. I opened my eyes as he handed me my violin. "You follow it," he told me, "wherever it takes you. Just forget about everything else you know and believe to be true, for in that moment that feeling is truth itself."

I took the violin and nodded, already hungering for the freedom he promised me.

"I want you to practice for the next few days, all right? I want your very existence to depend upon that feeling. Sell yourself to the music, lovely girl, open yourself to every emotion; do you understand?"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I need you to," he replied, "and because there's something I need to do myself, and our tasks are both something we need to do alone." He twined a lock of my hair around his fingers then let if fall again before kissing me one more time. There was something in it, maybe the effect of his lesson that tasted more pure and more devout than in the past. We were on the edge of that abyss I'd sensed months back, about to jump and see if we really could fly.

He drew away again and said, "I love you, Vivienne."

My eyes grew wide and I was sure I'd misheard him. "What?"

"Go," he told me, nodding towards the door.

"What did you say?"

"Go now." He never raised his voice above that gentle croon, but there was a shadow of urgency in the way he put his hands on my shoulders and steered me from the room. "Go, my phoenix."

Still in disbelief and still longing for flight, I set off to my bedroom, holding my violin to my chest and wishing I held him instead. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I'd set her on her course and I knew she understood what I wanted from her, even if she couldn't realize it yet. Now I needed to continue along my own road.

I went to my room and flung myself down at the organ, drawing towards me the last of the music I'd written. The bulk of the piece was complete, but it still wasn't perfect. It didn't say all I needed it to—not yet. There had been something missing, but it had fallen into place on the rooftop as I watched her dance in the snow. The perfect union of fire and ice, life and rebirth, passion and purity…this is what I'd been waiting for the entire time, this feeling that there was nothing I wanted more than to hold her spirit in mine and guard it for eternity. Yes, I'd wanted her and yes, I'd needed her, but until that moment I hadn't been able to truly admit to myself how much I already loved her and how much more I wanted to love her. This wasn't obsession; this was something so necessary and so ultimate the word "love" didn't feel like enough. The only way I knew how to tell her was in the music.

I worked steadily for days, replaying passages as softly as I could and revising wherever my meaning didn't read through. I adhered to that feeling as though it were the air I breathed, and for those days I worked it was air, water and sustenance bound into every sensation. I didn't eat and I didn't sleep, which was no new trial for me, and I knew no such thing as hunger or exhaustion as long as I worked. The music came first.

She stayed away the entire time as I'd told her to, and during the brief moments when I wasn't playing I could hear the sound of her violin ringing through the house. She was working too, and I could tell from the sound that she was doing her best to follow my instructions and lose herself to the song. It was in the more pronounced quiver of vibrato, the soar of every note, and the impassioned fever of her playing that gave it away, and it always spurred me on to finish my own task.

Finally, four days since I'd last seen her, I set the pen aside and stared at the paper strewn before me. The ink still shone on some of the pages and there was a veritable mess of notes added and notes struck out, but it was done. There, the scope of my soul lay written as plain as day.

Lethargy finally overcame me, and I collapsed onto my bed and slept. The echoes of what I'd written still lingered in my mind, and I woke mere hours later unyielding in my purpose.

_It's time._

__**Stick around! There's more on the way!  
><strong>


	28. Chapter 28

**No intro****s. Just read. And take a second to look around...see anything different?**

_Vivienne_

I began the morning the same as I'd begun the last…three? Four? I couldn't be certain. They'd been filled with endless music, endless feeling, one long stretch of wishing and wanting broken only for a little sleep and what simple meals I could prepare for myself. I'd done my best to do as he'd asked me and open myself to everything imaginable, but it was so hard. The hunger was there, but I still couldn't make it fly on its own, let alone fly with it. I played every song Erik had taught me, but none of them felt right. None of them felt like they were meant to carry me.

I got out of bed and changed my clothes, then picked up my violin again. This at least felt right. She felt perfect in my hands, like she and I had known each other from long ago and had only just found each other again. I stroked the wood and the ebony keys, then set her on my shoulder and put the bow to her strings. _Sing for me this time, _I pleaded. _Wherever you go, take me with you. _

The first notes rang from the instrument like rain, one bleeding into the next in a downpour that spoke to me, but left me stranded on the ground. I closed my eyes and let it come as it would, paying no mind to the direction of the piece. Maybe if I hit upon the right combination of notes, I would finally understand what Erik had been talking about…

A gentle knock on the door made me stop playing. I lowered the violin and said, "Come in."

The door opened and Erik entered the room. I hadn't forgotten what he'd said to me in the sitting room that day; indeed, it was all I could think about. It filled my mind again as I looked at him, emanating an aura that seemed the very essence of music itself. There was a radiance about him I'd never seen before, a new dimension to the power and elegance he possessed in such abundance. I only had to look once into his golden eyes before I felt my soul burn. God, he was beautiful.

"Hello," I said breathlessly. "I've been practicing."

"I can see that," he replied with a smile. "How is it coming along?"

I sighed. "It's not. I'm trying so hard, Erik, but I just…I can't do it. It won't let me in."

He came to me and cupped my face in his hands. "It will come in time, Vivienne. You'll fly when you're meant to. The important thing was for you to take the first step. Do you still feel it inside you?"

I nodded. "I can't let it out, Erik. I can't."

He caressed my cheek, then said, "Never mind, my phoenix. If I know you, you'll find a way." He took my hand and went on, "I came to tell you something. The music is finished."

"The new music?" I asked.

He nodded. His hand trembled in mine but he tightened his grip and said, "If I were to play it for you, would you…would you listen?"

"Of course, Erik."

"I mean, really listen. I feel like such a sentimental idiot for saying it, but listen with that magnificent heart of yours, so you can really hear it."

He was so earnest and sounded almost desperate. I nodded again. "Yes, Erik. Whatever you want."

He sighed and kissed me. "Thank you." He made to lead me from the room but I stopped him and said, "What you said to me that day, I just wanted to know—"

He pressed a finger to my lips to silence me and whispered, "Don't speak, Vivienne. Not yet. Not until you know." He turned again and guided me down the hall to his bedroom.

The place was even more of a mess than usual. The bed was unmade as though he'd only just climbed out of it, but he looked like he hadn't slept for days. Paper was scattered everywhere, folded, crumpled, torn, and all covered with red ink. It spread into every corner of the room, thrown there carelessly when he had no further use for it. A very thin layer of dust was gathering on his violin and a pen lay discarded next to the organ. Beside the pen was one stack of paper. It wasn't much, maybe not more than five or six sheets, but the instant my eyes found it I couldn't look away again.

He made me sit down on the edge of the bed, then he took a seat on the organ bench. "Listen with all that you are, Vivienne," he urged. "Please, just listen." He looked at me as if there was more he wanted to say, but then he turned back to the keyboard and began to play.

It began softly and shyly, like the first touch of a lover's hand, and then it grew. It flourished and blossomed all around me, wrapping me in an embrace I could almost tangibly feel. It was a living and breathing thing, like all he'd ever played for me, and yet it was so much more. It took my heart in careful fingers and cradled it in warmth. It caught up in my soul and intertwined with the very fiber of my being. It unfurled within my spirit and lifted me in arms I knew somehow would never let me fall again.

I closed my eyes as I drank in the sound, rising ever higher and coming down in a torrent of sheer adoration. It was foreign and familiar, like something in a dream—

A smile stole across my face. It _was _familiar; it had filled my own dreams for weeks. I'd been hearing it all along. I had written accompaniments to it, thinking it was nothing more than a mere will-o'-the-wisp born in my imagination and that nothing like it could exist outside imagination. Only now could I see that there was nothing imaginary about it. Only now could I open my eyes to what I'd known all along. Erik loved me with a fierce, gentle, fiery, tender passion that called me and spoke to the love I felt for him in my soul, asking me to follow him to the paradise we had long dreamed of…no, not to follow, but to go there together.

I felt as though there was a creature of flame and air surrounding me, caressing my skin and breathing into me. I shivered and sighed, my mind drifting away from the earth and borne up to the sky on that hymn he played. My hands convulsed and I felt something wooden in my grasp. I opened my eyes again and my smile widened. I still held my violin.

This was it, I knew it was. This was the music that would let me fly.

The song faded away as he finished playing, then he turned to me. He didn't speak, so I asked, "Please, Erik, play it again."

He nodded and set his hands to the keys once more. As for me, I positioned my violin on my shoulder, raised the bow, and began my harmony. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I nearly froze up in my amazement when I heard it. The sound of a single violin, ringing clear and true over the echo of the organ, as though the part had been written specifically. Without ceasing in my playing, I glanced at her and saw her there, sitting on my bed, playing along like she'd rehearsed. There was a raw, naïve quality to her melody that was so simple and so natural, but fitted so well with what I'd written for her. How was that even possible? She smiled as she caught my eye and kept playing.

I continued on, still watching her. She'd closed her eyes again, beaming beatifically, and she'd begun to sway along to the music. My amazement grew as I saw the smile fade from her face to be replaced by an expression of wonder, her playing taking on an uncanny, ethereal richness. The violin came to life in her hands, becoming an elemental spirit with which she'd taken flight. I knew what she was feeling as I watched. She'd found that freedom in the music. For one fleeting moment, she was wreathed in light and I could almost see the fire surrounding her, the manifestation of her soul.

Just when I thought I couldn't possibly love her any more than I already did…

The song came to the end again and she lowered the violin, but otherwise she sat frozen. She was still so high it would take time for her to come back down to me. I stayed there staring at her, watching, waiting…

She opened her eyes and sprang forward, throwing herself into my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck. "I did it, Erik!" she exclaimed. "I felt it, and it was just like you said! I only needed the right song and I could feel something deep inside me go free. I couldn't stop playing even if I wanted to, and I just knew it wasn't me playing anymore! It was coming on its own, and I was just the vessel, but it took hold of me, and—" She broke off and kissed me and the next moment I was kissing her back, feeling her ecstasy and triumph as if it were my own. "I love you," I told her between more kisses that grew ever more desperate. "I just wanted you to know."

"I know, Erik," she replied, caressing my face in her hands. "I know. I could feel it in your music."

"I had to write it. It was the only way I could truly make you understand it."

"I know."

Her soft, warm body pressed so close to mine…her silken hair falling onto her shoulders and glistening in the light…her smiling lips still meeting my own at every turning… "Thank you so much," she said, "for giving me all that you have."

"How did you do that?" I asked. "How could you just start playing along? It fit in so perfectly."

"I heard everything you were writing in my sleep," she told me, "and during the day I would piece together harmonies to amuse myself. I didn't know it was your music. I thought I was only dreaming it."

God, no, she wasn't dreaming it; neither was I. This wasn't a dream anymore. I kept waiting for it to come to an end, for her to stop everything and disappear, but she didn't. She remained.

As one, we stood and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her closer until I could almost feel her heart beating. She was so small she had to stand on her toes to kiss me. I leaned down to her and my hands found the clasps of her gown. Did I dare? Would she stop me? I slowly unfastened the first of the hooks, giving her time to see what I was doing and to say no.

She didn't. She sighed and leaned back into my hands. "Don't stop."

My fingers began to shake as I complied, watching with bated breath as she pushed the dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, standing there in only her undergarments. She never once took her eyes away from mine, and her gaze burned astonishingly bright. I reached out to touch her, brushing her bare skin and putting my hands on her waist. "There's something else I want to tell you," I said.

"What's that?"

I took a deep breath. "I am so goddamned nervous I can barely see straight."

She laughed a little and replied, "Then just look at me."

"I'm already looking at you. That's what's making me nervous."

She raised her hand and stroked my face with her fingertips. "Don't you want me?" she asked.

I closed my eyes at her touch and shivered. "You have no idea how much I want you."

She let her hand fall down the length of my torso to stop at my belt. "Show me." 

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

He stood still for one moment, then he took off his jacket and began loosening his tie. I worked to unbutton his shirt as fast as I could, my body suddenly screaming for his. He kissed the top of my head and I tilted my face up again for him to kiss me on the lips, my hands slipping inside his shirt and my palms flat against his chest. He raised his hands to remove the shirt and it joined my dress on the floor. Then he unbuckled his belt and lowered his trousers.

I admit, I started to feel nervous myself. It just felt so indecent to have him standing naked in front of me that for almost a whole minute, I couldn't make myself look anywhere at him. Finally, I worked up my courage and met his eyes. He was watching me closely, as if he was waiting for my approval. My gaze wandered down to take in the angular planes of his chest. He was lean and trim, but the muscle was still clearly visible, wrought into being from years of climbing in the shadows above our heads in the Opera. I could feel myself start to tremble as I looked even further down…I had never in my life seen a man unclothed before…my eyes widened. I didn't know what to expect, but…I hadn't anticipated the size of him. And before the night was over, we were going to…

I looked back up into his eyes, seeing their golden light soften in understanding. "I won't hurt you, Vivienne," he said. "I promise."

I nodded quietly, then looked back down. I slowly extended my hand to him, touching the length of him with quivering fingers. He was surprisingly warm, and hard, and throbbing slightly. I grasped him a bit more firmly and he let out a groan I felt deep in his chest. He took my face in his hands and kissed me fiercely, his tongue invading my mouth and already I enjoyed it more than it felt right that I should. My fears passed away and I put my arms around his neck again. He got to work unlacing my corset and I had to laugh as I heard his growls of frustration. He took his lips away again and cursed, "This damn thing."

With one final tug it came free and he threw it aside, running his hands across my back and hips before lifting my chemise up over my head. He caressed my bare skin and my heart nearly stopped beating as the rest of my body came alive, stirred into restless fever by his cool touch which was already growing warmer the longer we stayed in contact. We could set each other on fire. We could make each other burn.

In one swift motion he drew down my petticoat and pantaloons so I was as nude as he was. He pulled me into his arms and we stood there skin against skin for what at once felt like eternity and a split second before he lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He carried me over to the bed and gently laid me down in the sheets, then stood back to look at me. I heard his intake of breath as he whispered, "My God…" His eyes roved over me from head to toe, his stare so fervent and so worshipful I couldn't find it in myself to feel embarrassed. "My beautiful little phoenix…"

My heart started racing when he climbed in next to me and lay down over me, resting his weight on one elbow and leaving one hand free to touch me. He moved slower now, with more tenderness as he kissed my forehead, my lips, my neck, my shoulders. He worked his way down lower, kissing my collarbone and then my breasts. His movements felt shy and tentative, tracing circles around my hardening nipple with his tongue, but I threaded my fingers through his sparse hair and held him there, granting him permission to continue. I felt dizzy with raw need to have him like this, his mouth tasting one breast while his hand stroked and manipulated the other. I struggled to breathe, panting and arching into him. He nipped me gently with his teeth and I gasped loudly. "Erik!"

He took my cry for encouragement, pressing kisses to my navel and caressing my hips. I sensed where he was going and parted my legs for him, but he surprised me and stroked my calf, kissing every inch of bare skin and traveling up my thigh with his hands and lips. "Vivienne," he sighed, "never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this could be real."

"And what did you dream, _mon amour?_" I asked in little more than a whisper.

He didn't answer, but his fingers slipped inside me and we both moaned in unison as I felt myself grow wet and warm at his touch. He teased me with his fingertips and I shuddered violently, then he took his hand away and before I could make a sound of protest he was there again, ravishing me with his tongue.

The cry that burst from me was wanton and unbridled, turning agonized as he drew away once more. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

"God, no!" I cried. "Please, Erik, don't ever stop!"

He began again and I dug my fingernails into my palms at the ecstasy building inside me. He grew rougher and relentless in his attentions, making my entire body shake and inciting more cries from me. I cursed fluently in my thoughts though I couldn't utter a single word, the sensations were so strong and so amazing, and the more I moaned my delight the more he gave. I could sense it…it was coming…

I had never been to the sea, but in an instant I learned what the shore must feel like, lost beneath wave after wave and rising with the tide as I drowned in wave after wave of sheer pleasure. I tried to hold still, but I couldn't keep from writhing beneath him in my abandon—oh, God, it felt so damned good—and begging him, "Erik, please, just take me!"

I heard his rough murmur of assent and felt him move above me, his eyes blazing with an intense, animal light. He lowered his body atop mine and crushed my lips beneath his in a shameless kiss even as I felt his hardened manhood press against me. I needed him so badly…I felt empty without him.

I spread my legs further and he slowly started to enter me. The pain wasn't nearly what it was the last time, but it was just enough to make me cringe and my body to tense up and I couldn't contain a tiny whimper.

Just like that, he pulled away from me. "I'm sorry," he kept repeating, horrified. "I'm so sorry." He made to rise from the bed.

"No!" I cried out, catching hold of his arm and drawing him back to me. He knelt in the middle of the bed and I climbed into his lap, cupping his cheek in my palm. "You won't hurt me," I told him, and never once breaking my gaze, I took him into my body.

I felt rather than heard his soft groan and yet he was frozen and unmoving. I kissed him and raised my other hand to his face, keeping his eyes on me. "Put your arms around me, Erik."

He obeyed without saying a word, holding me close to him. I paused to drink it in, this feeling of merging my body with his and letting him fill me so completely. I could sense the tension in him and knew he was craving his own satisfaction, but now that we were here, twined together like this, I had no idea what should happen next. Was he supposed to take the initiative, or was I? I rocked my hips experimentally, feeling him move in and out, and we both gave a shiver of elation at the rush that flooded through us. I moved again and this time I felt him move with me, and together we formed a rhythm, keeping time and adding a counterpoint of ragged breaths and pounding hearts.

He tightened his hold on me and I could feel the euphoria rising again, more powerful than ever. It came in a flash of white light and a symphony of sound. My vision clouded over and my ears began to ring, and I threw my head back and clutched him to me, feeling as though my spirit had flown away into him. He kissed my neck and shoulders as he moved his hands to my hips, guiding me and changing our pace, deeper, harder, faster, then he gave a violent convulsion and I felt liquid heat deep in my belly. He released his own harsh cry into the curve of my shoulder then went still, not moving for a moment before disentangling our bodies and lowering me back onto the bed.

Never had I felt such pure contentment as he lay next to me and drew me close to him, granting light, sweet kisses to my nose and lips and slowly running his fingers through my hair. "Just let me look at you," he entreated, his gaze like molten glass. "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

"When I look through your eyes, I do," I replied, stroking the line of his jaw. "What about you? Do you know how beautiful you are?"

He kissed me one more time and rested his head against my shoulder, whispering softly, "_Je t'aime, mon petit."_

I closed my eyes and smiled, listening to the sound of his heart beating in the silence.

**I admit to writing this stuff occasionally, but I've never actually let anyone read it before, so for all I know I suck at it. Let me know what you think, and if you've got some constructive criticism, I'd be glad to hear it.**


	29. Chapter 29

**It's about 5:00 AM, so I'm definitely not feeling too lucid at the moment. Enjoy.**

_Erik_

It made no difference whether it was one night or several. All I know is that for the longest time, we had neither the will nor the inclination to leave my bed, and we spent the hours perfecting the art of making love. We were both eager students, learning all we could at an indecent pace, becoming more familiar with each other's bodies, schooling ourselves in the subtle yet powerful nuances of sensation, and discovering still more ways of pleasing each other.

My Vivienne was a wonder, her every move and motion making me feel truly alive for the first time in my life. I took all that she gave me and strove to give it back to her. I must confess, it gave me a fierce surge of pride to see her look of surrender, to hear her call out my name, and to have her quaking beneath me in a fit of passion and to know that I was the cause of her ecstasy. It was quite the heady tonic, and I quickly grew addicted to it.

Oh, that dear, darling, beautiful woman…She'd been through hell and fought her way back again. She'd given her soul to me and helped me reclaim my own. She deserved everything I could possibly give her in return.

And yet a shadow crept over me as I lay next to her, watching her smile in her sleep. I had offered all that I was, a broken man made whole, and she had accepted me in every sense of the word. But beyond that, beyond myself, what could I ever give her? She wasn't meant to stay hidden away underground and I knew she would tire of it eventually. The phoenix I so adored would strain her wings against the bars of her cage, struggling for freedom, and I wouldn't be able to hold her. She needed more than this, but we had sealed her fate the moment she handed me her fiery, fragile heart.

I closed my eyes as guilt began to carve away at me. _What have I done?_

I rose quietly so as not to wake her, threw on some clothes, and crept from the room. I wended my way through the silent house, trying not to see with the eyes of a world-weary, reclusive outcast but with those of a young, spirited fairy queen, my own Mab, bringer of dreams. It was a good house, but I would come to despise it. It was so far removed from all else I would rebel against its isolation with every ounce of my existence. And once people returned to the Opera, the safety of this subterranean hideaway would be threatened once more.

What could I do? I could almost see the future laid out in front of me. She would be content for a time to remain tucked away down here with me, but she would grow restless and wild again. She would want something more, something I couldn't give her no matter how I longed to, and she would hate me for it. Love bound us together, but it would bleed us dry when it was no longer enough.

I went outside to the shore of the lake, the silence making my thoughts echo in my own mind. She didn't belong here. She was a creature of light, and the darkness didn't suit her. She couldn't possibly belong to me. It was a cruel revelation, made in the darkness that surrounded me.

_Vivienne_

I now understood the secret, knowing smiles the other girls wore when they lorded their conquests over each other. It was a delicious knowledge after all. I had a lover…the Opera Phantom himself! Once upon a time, the confidence would have secured me a place in the history of the ballet as the most audacious and infamous trollop to walk the earth. Now however, I was pleased just to keep it to myself.

I reached out to touch him, my Erik, but my hand met nothing but thin air and still-warm sheets. I opened my eyes and lifted my head from the pillow, searching the room for him, but there was no sign of him. I gathered the sheet around my body and left the bedroom to find him.

The house lay as quiet as the embers of a fire. I went from room to room without meeting him, so I followed the logical path and went outside.

A blast of cold air rushed over me as I opened the door on the lake. I shivered, wrapping the sheet tighter. As my eyes slowly adjusted, I could just make out Erik's figure at the edge of the water. He wasn't any more suited for the chill than I was, dressed in only his shirt and trousers. His head was bowed and his shoulders bent, a familiar stance. He was thinking again.

I approached in my bare feet, coming to stand in front of him and laying my head against his chest. "I missed you when I woke up," I told him.

He stroked my hair absently and said, "I needed some air." He seemed to come back to himself, taking in my attire, or lack thereof. "What are you doing out here? You'll freeze."

"You're not much better off yourself," I pointed out. "What brought you out here in the first place?"

He sighed and said, "Never you mind, little phoenix."

"But I do mind," I told him. "What are you thinking of, to make you look so downtrodden?"

"Downtrodden?" he repeated. "That's one I've never been called before, though it would have fit well enough. It's nothing, Vivienne."

"Erik, I may not have been smart enough to put on any clothes before I followed you out here, but I can see something's troubling you," I said. "Tell me, please."

"Just go back inside."

"Not until you talk to me."

He sighed again, falling silent. I waited obstinately for him to go on, and eventually he said, "I can't do this."

I frowned slightly. "Do what?"

A note of pain I knew all too well crept into his voice. "I can't let you stay here, Vivienne. I don't want this for you, to crouch in the shadows and hide in the gloom. This isn't where you were meant to be."

"I was meant to be right with you," I replied, running my hands over his chest.

"Were you? Light and darkness can't coexist, you know."

"Wrong. They can't exist without each other. If there was no darkness, there would be no need for light. It shines all the brighter when touched by shadow." I nestled closer to him, tracing my fingers along his jaw. "And lately there's nothing I want more than to be touched by shadow," I added provocatively.

He shook his head. "This isn't good enough for you," he told me, gesturing around us at the catacombs. "I'm not good enough."

"You spent quite some time not too long ago being more than good enough," I replied with a sly smile.

"Don't try that," he warned.

"Try what?" I asked, pressing my hips against his.

"Changing the subject. And distracting me. And I hate to tell you this, my dear, but you're starting to act like a slut."

"Only for you," I replied.

"Don't you understand what I'm trying to tell you?" he asked sharply.

"Of course I do. I've spread my legs for you and am of no further use to you."

"You know better than that! Vivienne, I'm only thinking of what's best for you. Remember how it was when all you wanted was a breath of air and a glimpse of the sun? Do you remember how it felt to be denied such a simple thing? It would only be worse if you stayed, especially when the Opera is back on its feet. I just…I don't want you to hate me for what I couldn't give you."

"And what is that exactly?" I asked, beginning to get annoyed. "What is it you can't give me that would ever make me hate you?"

"A normal life, for one thing," he pointed out.

"Well, maybe I don't want one. You think I don't know the chance for a normal life walked out the door when I decided to stay with you? I'm not a fool, Erik, whatever you seem to think."

"Vivienne, you and I both know what will happen if you stay here."

"Since you've taken it upon yourself to think for me again," I snapped, "why don't you tell me?"

He gave me a fixed, determined stare as though every word would cause him pain but nevertheless must be said. "You would be all right for a while, and who knows how long that might be, but I know you too well to think there wouldn't come a day when you would want to be free of this place. I wouldn't blame you; it's toxic even to me sometimes, but I can survive down here. You couldn't."

"You're not even willing to let me try," I told him. "Erik, isn't it up to me to choose what I want for myself?"

"And what about what I want?" he shot back. "Do you think I want to watch you wither and fade here and know that it was in my power to save you? Do you think I want to see the fire I love so much about you burn out?"

"I don't want you to save me! I don't want anything but to stay here with you!"

"Vivienne, you have so much to give," he pleaded. "There's so much life in you it takes my breath away to think of it. You're wasted down here and with no room to grow down here, you would eventually waste away forever. Don't ask me to endure that, if you don't care about how you would feel about it."

"How do you think I would feel without you?" I demanded. "Do you know how much I need you to live?"

He cupped my face in his hands, his eyes blazing. "I do," he replied. "Believe me, I do. If what you feel is anything like what I feel, then you don't want me out of your sight for anything, even to blink. You think it's easy for me to have to say this?"

"I'm not letting you send me away out of a misplaced sense of honor!"

"Misplaced! I love you so much the love itself will kill me if your leaving doesn't!"

"Then you have nothing to worry about," I told him, "because I'm not leaving!"

"I won't let you spend the rest of your life here!" he exclaimed. "I can't do that to either of us! I've tried before and I won't make that mistake again!"

"So you would rather condemn me?" I retorted. "Two days apart from you nearly drove me mad, Erik! If you think I could live without you now after everything…there _is _no life without you, don't you understand?"

He closed his eyes and turned away from me. "I thought there was no life without Christine," he said. "You'll—you'll be all right in time, little phoenix. You'll go out in the world and find someone worthy, and you'll be all right."

"How can you say that?" I cried. "There's no one in the world worthy, not now that I've found you and loved you the way I have!"

"You won't die here, Vivienne!"

"I'd rather die here with you than live elsewhere and never see you again! If you tell me to go, Erik, I'll throw myself in the lake!"

"God, woman," he said, "I'm doing this for you! Don't make this harder than it has to be! You have to leave!"

"Where would I go?"

"I don't know! Vivienne, please—"

"No!" I shouted. "You can't do this to me!" I dodged around him to fling myself into the water, but he took me by my arms and held me back. "Let go of me!" I screamed at him, trying to break free.

"I can't!" he cried. "I can't let you go, and I can't keep you either! I can't, Vivienne!"

"Why are you doing this?" I asked. "Why are you so convinced you couldn't be enough for me?"

"I'm not good enough for you," he said, his breaking voice and his tightening grip betraying the pain he was in. He'd gotten himself so worked up I could hear him struggle to breathe and feel him shaking. "I've never been good enough."

"Ridiculous! You've let a lifetime of neglect and cruelty get to you, and it's warped you so badly—"

"Well, I wonder how that might have happened?" he snapped. "A lifetime of being less than human, utterly worthless, finding a place only in the darkest, lowest circles—"

"Back to that damned darkness you're always raving about?" I demanded. My blood was pounding in my ears and despite the cold, I was fuming. "I've got news for you, monsieur. You're not as polluted as you think you are, and you're an idiot for adhering to your view of yourself in that manner."

"Who exactly is the idiot? I'm giving you back your freedom—"

"And yet I decide to stay with you!"

"Why?"

Infuriating man! If he wasn't still holding me, I would have thumped him. "Because I love you, you ass!"

"But why do you love me, Vivienne? Why me?"

"Because you're the only one who could ever be good enough! Do you understand now, Erik? The only one! No other!"

He stood dumbstruck for a moment, then he leaned down and caught my lips in a kiss that almost knocked me backwards. I stumbled a few steps, but he put his arms around me and kept kissing me, breaking off every now and then to speak. "I really don't deserve you…you realize that…right?"

"Of course not," I replied, responding with enthusiasm. "Erik—" kiss, "after everything you've suffered—" another kiss, "you deserve everything coming to you."

"What about what you've suffered?" he asked, slipping his hands under my sheet to my skin.

"My trials pale in comparison to yours," I said, guiding his touch over my body.

He shivered. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he inquired, his voice lower than usual and taking on a rough, husky quality.

I arched my brow, reached down and grabbed hold of his manhood, hearing his deep groan and feeling him stiffen in my hand. "I think I have some idea," I replied.

"Damn you, you vixen," he growled. He moved to snare me again but I turned, cast him one more devious grin, and ran back inside.

_Erik_

Oh, she knew what she was doing…she knew exactly what she was doing…I set off after her, racing back to the house just as she made to close the door. I flung out my arm to catch it and darted inside, slamming it shut. She ran up the hall, the red sheet trailing along the floor behind her. I stepped forward and put my foot down on the edge. She tripped, letting out a little shriek of surprise, but I caught her up before she could fall, putting my hands all over her. She twisted around in my arms until we were face to face and I lowered us to the floor.

She started unbuttoning my shirt and I snatched at the sheet, trying to untangle her from it. There was a loud ripping sound as it tore and both of us froze for a fraction of a second in comic surprise, but she squirmed against me again and the motion called us back to our intent. I swatted the fabric aside and she lay bare beneath me. Animal desire took control but before I could act on it, she gathered herself and rolled us both over so she lay on top of me. I felt her lips trail across my chest, joined by tantalizing strokes from her tongue, and when I tried to draw her back up to me she slapped my hands away. She made her journey down my stomach, then she unbuttoned my trousers.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

She glanced at me and I though hardly recognized the storm in those green eyes I felt the power of it in one look. "Slut, am I?" she replied, and before I quite realized what she intended to do, she had me in her mouth.

"Vivienne!" It burst from me in a hoarse snarl and only encouraged her, moving in a rhythm that slowly grew faster and faster. _Jesus Christ! _

She paused for an instant and I practically shouted at her to continue, the damn tease. But every stroke of her tongue, every motion of her lips, gave me the most enticing ideas until I had to stop her. With a growl of self-denial, I ordered, "Enough! Lay back, now."

I saw her quizzical expression as she reluctantly obeyed, stretching her body out beside me. I positioned myself above her, staring down at her. "Do you really want to know what you do to me, Vivienne?" I asked. "Do you want me to tell you, or would you rather I show you?"

"Show me," she answered. "Show me, Erik."

May the Lord have pity on her, because I sure as hell wasn't about to.

"All I have to do is say your name, Vivienne," I told her, "and my heart starts racing until it hurts." I ran my hand down the length of her body, stopping between her legs. She shivered and sighed, leaning into my touch, and through the haze in my mind I knew a moment of amazement that a seemingly mundane action could inspire such longing. "I can't control my own body," I went on. "I can't keep it from shaking and trembling." She was so wet beneath my fingers and I felt as though I was burning alive, but I held to my purpose. I didn't hold back, making her thrash and whimper as I brought her higher and higher. "Do you know how it feels when the ground vanishes from under your feet but the sky is still so far above you?" I asked, circling that bit of flesh that controlled her sensations with my fingertips. I sensed her approaching her climax and added, "You're about to." With that, I ceased my handling.

She let out a piercing cry of agony. "Erik!"

"This is what you do to me, my phoenix," I said, stroking her again with deliberate slowness and her eyes rolled back in her head in anguish. God, she was suffering… "This is what you make me feel. I pray it never stops even as I beg for mercy." I leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Beg for me, Vivienne. Tell me you want me."

"I want you, Erik," she replied, the words nearly lost in a throaty moan. "Oh, God, Erik, please!"

"Have you had enough?" I teased, pausing again.

"Please, Erik!" she cried.

I stopped for only a second, then I was buried deep within her and she gave a shuddering gasp as I began to move inside her, rousing her again. She gripped my arms so tightly I could feel her fingernails digging into my skin through my shirtsleeves. I was getting dizzy as I felt myself reaching ecstasy, but I strove to hold off, provoking her one last time. "Now say my name, my phoenix."

"Erik," she murmured breathlessly.

I slowed again and her hips arched into mine, seeking release. "Louder!"

The storm broke in her eyes and she shouted, "Erik!"

The echoing praise drove me wild. I couldn't have held back a second longer. I drove on relentlessly, fleetingly fearing I would hurt her in my abandon but unable to stop myself. I watched her as a look of supreme exultation crossed her features and she let out a scream of wild joy. The sound pushed me over the edge and I felt euphoria wash over me, robbing me of my breath and passing like an electric current through my entire body. I unleashed my own shout, calling her name and cherishing the feel of it on my lips.

I collapsed a moment later, falling beside her and gasping for air. I summoned the strength to turn my head and look at her, amazed to see her laughing and crying all at once. I edged next to her and held her close to me. "Are you all right?" I asked.

"Of course I am," she replied. "Why wouldn't I be? Erik, that was—the most astounding, magnificent, miraculous thing I've ever felt. I can still feel it, it was so intense and so perfect."

I sighed in relief and kissed her, basking in her afterglow. Had she always been this beautiful, or was I just noticing how gorgeous she was? "You don't deserve to hide underground forever," I told her.

"Neither do you," she said. "You say you can survive down here, but don't you want to live for once?"

I took her hand and cradled it in my own. "Where could we go?"

She paused, then said, "The countryside. Open air, open meadows, with endless stars in the sky…wouldn't you like to see the stars again?"

"In the country, the superstition is as endless as the stars. We wouldn't be safe there, with so much fear and so few willing to embrace the unknown."

"Then we could find a place in the city and blend among the crowds. There are so many people no one would take notice of a man in a mask."

"Perhaps not," I answered, "but Vivienne, I just don't know how I can live among so many people after so many years of being alone, and the years of torment before that." I stroked her hair back from her forehead. "I don't want to lose you, but I'm just so afraid we'll never fit in anywhere. There's no place for us in this world."

"I don't believe that," she told me. "There has to be somewhere, Erik. Don't give up yet."

"It's rather hard to give up with you around," I replied.

She smiled. "See then? You need me to keep your hope." She kissed my deformed cheek and laid her head on my arm. "We'll find a way, Erik. I'm sure we will."

**Sorry it took so long to get this posted. Gotta toddle off to bed now, so good night!**


	30. Chapter 30

**I had to backtrack and loop to get things done this week, but I have emerged victo****rious. At least, I hope I have...**

**Enjoy!**

_Vivienne_

Erik and I made an agreement not to discuss leaving the Opera for a time. It saved us further arguments and gave us more time for…other things. It seemed that no matter how the day began, it invariably ended with some form of lovemaking. Wild, tender, rowdy, sweet; we just couldn't stop. There was no place in that house safe from our shameless encounters, though we tried to maintain some sense of propriety every now and then. For instance, neither of us neglected our music. He still composed and I still practiced, and when we felt like it we played together, each trying to outdo the other.

We were in the sitting room one afternoon, violins in hand. He was in his usual place in the chair tuning up, and I perched on the arm of the sofa rosining my bow. "I'm going to win this time," I assured him. "You know that, right?"

"Considering you've said the same thing the last seven times and haven't won yet," he replied, "forgive my skepticism."

"Am I to blame if you cheat?"

"How is it cheating if you neglect to put it down in the rules, dear girl?"

I jabbed him in the shoulder with the bow. "Then I'll recite," I said. "No interference of any kind, be it physical, verbal or otherwise; no changing melodies with no warning; no singing along in that magic voice of yours; no intense, seductive stares; and above all, you stay in your chair and behave yourself. Violate the rules and you forfeit instantly. Is it understood?"

He put on an injured air and asked, "Am I not allowed to serenade you, or even to look at you as you play along with me?"

"No, you're not," I told him. "You know how distracting I find it, so therefore it counts as interference." I set my violin on my shoulder and he copied me. "So what will it be this time around?" I asked.

"I picked last time," he reminded me. "It's your turn."

I gave it some thought, then said, "Beethoven's fifth symphony, if you please, monsieur."

"Feeling ambitious, are we?" he asked pleasantly.

"Merely confident in the skills my teacher taught me," I corrected. "So I'd like to thank you in advance for all the grueling hours spent listening to you fuss over the slightest mistake. All your hairsplitting paid off."

"Cocky as well!" he exclaimed. "You have yet to win, little one."

I waved it aside. "I'll wager here and now that I play so brilliantly and so cleverly even you, oh virtuoso, won't be able to match me."

"Is that so? What are you willing to wager?"

"Anything you like. Agreed?"

He gave a wide smirk and nodded, raising his bow to his violin. With that, we set off.

Staccato stabs filled the air, crossing and twining as we met each other note for note. The piece wasn't at all difficult for him, but I had to concentrate to finger the strings with his unerring accuracy. The mood was desperate and frenzied, fading slowly into the serene and then picking up speed again before reverting to its earlier agitation. I kept my eyes on him as we played, watching him closely and admiring his movements. Such precision, such control was arresting, and I couldn't wait to be at the other end of that exacting mastery later on…

I winced as my hand on my bow began to cramp, but I relaxed my grip and pressed on. Erik would hear any missed note and after my boasting I couldn't slip up even once. I took a steadying breath while keeping my mind on the music, sometimes only recalling the notes just in time to play them. I stole another glance at Erik to see how he was doing and wasn't at all surprised to see him unruffled and undisturbed. It was easy for him—and it was about time I gave him a taste of his own medicine.

Never faltering in the music, I got to my feet and stood in front of the fire. He noticed my motion and as I suspected, he'd turned to see just what I was doing. I began to move with the melody, swaying and spinning and turning Beethoven into as much of a seduction as I could while still playing. It wasn't easy to dance and play at the same time, but so long as I stayed in control of my body I was in control of my instrument. He watched me unblinkingly, his gaze growing keen and ravenous. I placed myself in front of him with a twirl that nearly made me lose hold of the violin and wiggled my hips tauntingly. My reward was in his muttered curse and his renewed focus on the music. He didn't want to lose, but I was getting to him.

"Don't stop, now," I goaded. "Relax your posture; you're as tense as a statue."

He shot me a withering glare but didn't say a word. I pestered him still further, needling him with more impudent gibes and dancing ever more suggestively. His hands shook as he tried to concentrate and I felt a sense of triumph, but he turned the tables on me and suddenly increased the tempo. I froze mid-glide, abandoning my dance, and struggled to keep up with the new pace. Damn! I should have known he'd find a loophole!

We were nearing the end of the piece and neither of us had claimed victory yet. My ploys and his tricks hadn't quite succeeded. We'd never yet tied, and I hoped we just might draw even this time.

I had a split second to register his wicked grin before he broke off from the symphony and launched into an improvised rondo that threw me off completely. He was clever; he hadn't changed melodies at all, but merely put his own interpretation to the current one. I didn't stand a chance, left to sit back down and let him finish showing off. _The crafty bastard…_

He lowered the instrument at last and said, "I believe you lose again, dearest."

"How was that fair?" I demanded. "How?"

"I wasn't cheating," he replied. "You said no switching. You didn't say a word about embellishing. And what about your little game beforehand, you shameless flirt?"

"Do you know how hard it is to act the siren when you're playing Beethoven? Besides, you had it coming."

"And I have something else coming, as I recall. Our agreement was anything we'd like, correct?"

"Correct. What can I do for you, lover?"

He smiled at the endearment as he set the violin aside and beckoned me to him. I went willingly, climbing into the chair with him and straddling him. I stroked his features with my fingers and asked, "Did you like my dance?"

"Oh, but didn't I," he replied, smiling wider. "You'll have to do that for me again sometime. It gave me such enjoyment to watch."

"That's not all it gave you," I told him archly, shifting slightly and feeling his erection press into me through my skirts. "And you're not a bit ashamed."

"Why should I be?" he inquired, pulling me closer and kissing me. "I'm a man, after all, darling, and you're quite the temptress. You mustn't expect me to resist you after such a display."

"I don't want you to resist me," I said. "It's terribly boring when you do."

He laughed. "And I never realized how boring it really was down here before you. How lonely and lifeless it will be when you're gone!"

"Now that's not allowed," I scolded. "No talking of anyone leaving, remember? I ought to renege on our wager to punish you."

"Renege, and I…" he fished around for a suitable reply, "and I won't touch you for a week."

"Do you hear that?" I asked. "It sounds like the hollow echo of an empty threat to me…"

He rolled his eyes. "I swear, you get cheekier by the hour," he complained.

"Stop grumbling," I ordered. "What do you want from me?"

He reached out and toyed with a strand of my hair. "You know that thing you did with your mouth before?" he asked, pretending the question was of no importance but unable to hide how his fingers quivered.

"Mm-hm. Did you like that as well?"

"Well, I wouldn't object if you were to do it again."

I grinned at him. "Don't play coy with me," I said. "I'm not interested in what you wouldn't object to. I asked you what you want." To incense him, I moved my hand from his face down between our bodies and felt him shudder as I touched him. I loved having the power to arouse him like this.

He gave in. "I want you to quit tormenting me and put that brazen tongue of yours to good use before I throw you down and ravish you unconscious."

I leaned in and whispered, "I wouldn't object to that." Then I slid to my knees at his feet and unbuckled his belt. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik <em>

Oh, yes, for many long and lust-filled days, we couldn't keep our hands off each other. But eventually, life outside of fleshy pleasures had to continue, and it had been ages since I'd seen what was happening in the theater. With regret, I left my little phoenix behind and prowled through the cellars up to the Opera proper.

I hadn't realized just how close the Opera was to reopening…there was no work left to be done but to replace superficial furnishings. It wouldn't be long now, and the corridors would once again be swarming with people, little better than intruders when all I wanted was a place for Vivienne and me to live in peace. My common sense told me she was right again and had been right all along and that we needed to leave the Garnier for good. But there was still that stupidly stubborn voice in my head snapping back to say we would never find our haven, not here or anywhere.

I couldn't help feeling a dull pang as I stalked around the theater and absorbed the renovations. But a pang for what, exactly? As one involved with the building of the Palais Garnier to start with, I was glad to see it restored. But this more than anything was the final push out of my sanctuary. I supposed I'd known for months now that I would have to give up my old empire at last, but…oh, how I hated surrendering control under any circumstances. Departure would mean leaving the Garnier in the hands of the witless twits Richard and Moncharmin, and I had been involved in its doings for too long to let it go easily. More than that, going back out into the world would mean putting myself, once again, at the mercy of a race that had shut me out long ago. They would even turn their backs on my Vivienne for allying herself with me. We would be reviled anywhere and everywhere we went. In a so-called enlightened age, we would be forced into the gloom.

I paused, hearing footsteps nearby. Before the fire I could have vanished into one several secret passages along this corridor, but since it had been rebuilt I didn't know if any of them still existed. The best I could do was keep to the shadows and wait for the newcomer to pass me by. The steps drew closer, and now I could hear voices.

"—mirrors to be installed in the ballet studio and the basic furniture has to be moved into the offices and dressing rooms. Then our work here is done."

"About time, too. This place gives me the creeps."

"Don't tell me those ghost stories have gotten into your head, Bouvier."

"No, not really. It's just that there's an ill-omened feeling in the air, like all the mishaps and memories of the old building still linger in the new."

There was a snort of laughter, sounding alarmingly close. I moved further down the corridor, searching for a passage while straining to listen. "You're as superstitious as an old woman. Have any of these ill omens been whispering in your ear lately, like Devereaux was on about weeks ago?"

They were getting nearer…I couldn't see them yet, but I was running out of corridor, heading back towards the busy foyer. There had to be an outlet!

"No, Dubois, they haven't, but—I have felt like there was someone—watching me, at times."

"Supervisors, you fool, and a no-account slacker like you ought to—"

"I mean something—unnatural like. It makes me all-overish just thinking about it."

I tried to quell my racing pulse. Voices in the foyer echoed from one end of the corridor and the two workmen drew closer at the other, and I had yet to find one of the old passages. It was comparatively dim, but they had a light with them, bobbing nearer every second…

_If there's a God, _I prayed, _just get me back to the cellars…_

"You'd better not let anyone else hear you talk like that, or they'll think you've had too much to dri—"

The men fell silent as the lantern light struck me and I froze for a fraction of a second, still groping along the wall for a switch that should open one of the hidden doors. I had my back to them, but if they came closer…

"Who's there?" one demanded, and I sensed his approach. "Who are you?"

I didn't answer, but resumed my clandestine search shielded from their eyes. There hadn't been much damage in this part of the Opera; there had to be just one passage left!

My fingers hit upon the switch just as I felt a hand on my arm. I yanked myself free, catching a glimpse of two startled, shell-shocked faces as the door opened and I darted into the passage, closing it behind me quick as a shadow is wont to move.

There were shouts on the other side of the wall and I stood to listen. I hadn't worn my mask, not foreseeing this circumstance and now cursing my laxness. They had seen my face.

The ruckus drew more from the foyer, each talking over the other to learn what happened.

"What was it?"

"What did you see?"

"It was Lucifer himself!" came the reply. "He was here, sure as you live! We saw him, all robed in black with a face that was half angel and half demon!"

In spite of the situation, my damned ego swelled a bit. Half angel? Really?

"And those eyes! Those flaming yellow eyes that nearly scorch your immortal soul! I swear it on my sainted mother's head, he was here! And he just evaporated like smoke the instant I touched him!"

There was a fresh outbreak of babble, and one voice rose over the din, "It was the Phantom! The Phantom of the Opera!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Giraud, the Phantom was a man!"

"And it was no man we saw! No man vanished into nothing like that before!"

"I tell you, it was the Phantom!"

I listened in terror, lest they decide to raid the catacombs, but after several tense minutes of excitement they returned to the foyer, some still mumbling about the unforgotten Phantom. I had got up a reputation for myself that had finally come back to haunt me. I couldn't take a chance that fear would outweigh curiosity—just look where that had landed me before. Vivienne and I would have to leave before anyone came poking around in the cellars.

With swift, silent footsteps, I made my way through the passage until I emerged near the dressing rooms. I kept my ears open for any disturbances as I hurried to the cellars, anxious to get out of the theater as fast as I could. I met with no further difficulty and sped down into the catacombs.

My thoughts circled around and around. I had been seen. People had seen me before, but that was back when I was believed to be a ghost. That last night at the Opera had confirmed my humanity for one and all, stripping away the illusion of the supernatural. There would always be those who remained convinced my legend was my reality but there still left those who would connect the ghost with the man in the mask, and they would follow the old path down to the house on the lake to hunt me out. My former habits bid me to lay the traps ready to hold off intruders, but my sense of caution told me that traps could only keep them at bay for so long and it wouldn't do to have too many stragglers disappearing in the cellars again.

There it was, laid so neatly for me: Give up the control I so desperately clung to voluntarily and leave on my own terms, or stay and have it snatched from my hands.

Vivienne was waiting for me when I returned. She rushed into the hallway to meet me, took one look at my face, and halted. "What happened?"

Should I tell her? Should I burden her with my worries and fears? "Nothing."

"Erik, you've never once lied to me," she said. "Don't make it a habit now."

I sighed, reluctant to say anything, but I knew how stubborn she could be when she wanted to. "I was in the theater, and someone saw me."

Her eyes widened in shock and before she could say any more, I went on, "They didn't know who I was, but they'll tell the story to anyone who'll listen, and there's always the chance that someone will start prying. I think we're safe for the time being, but—"

"We can't stay here," she finished. "I won't say 'I told you so.' Do they…does anyone know the way down here?"

I shrugged, replying, "They found their way once before."

"What if they do come and we're still here?"

"They can't get in," I assured her, "not unless the door on the lake is open."

"But what if they wait out there? What if they break in?"

I stared down at her, her green eyes alive with alarm and horrors she wouldn't utter aloud. If someone came and found us, they would do their damnedest to finish me off for good, and I had no idea what would happen to my little phoenix. Would they assume she'd been my prisoner and try to rescue her, or would they decide I had kept her as my mistress and punish her too? Either way, they would take her from me, and I wasn't about to let that happen. I would burn the Opera to the ground again and the rest of the city along with it before I let anyone take her from me. I'd kill the both of us without a second thought before anyone had the chance to rob me of the last and only thing I would ever truly care about.

I reached for her and drew her into my arms, holding her to me. "They won't get to us, Vivienne, I swear it. I'll tear down Heaven itself if I have to, but no one will harm us. Do you believe me?"

She burrowed deeper into my embrace, saying, "Somehow, Erik, I do. You haven't lied to me yet."

"And I don't intend to start," I told her, but inside I was secretly hoping that time wouldn't prove me a liar after all.

**No telling when the next one will be here, so don't get your hopes up; rest assured it will be here before too long, so don't feel too bad!**


	31. Chapter 31

**The end is in sight! :( As it turns out, this thing has been running itself for months now and won't submit on occasion, but it decided to work with me here. Strike that, it decided to stop fighting me. Carry on!**

_Vivienne_

The spell was broken. The web of blissful magic we'd spun around ourselves lay torn and ragged at our feet and the days were long and fretful, no matter how we tried to hide it from each other. For nearly a week Erik didn't leave the house in case someone had indeed decided to investigate the cellars, but we hardly spoke a word during that time. This new shadow of uncertainty and worry that had crept in around us was enough to maintain our silence and I was resentful that it should come and spoil our happiness.

I watched Erik carefully, knowing the battle that must be raging in his mind. He knew as well as I did that it was time to leave the Opera forever, but it was so hard to leave what had been the closest thing to a home he'd ever had. It wasn't safe in the Garnier anymore, but it wouldn't be safe outside it, either. What was I supposed to say to him? It was frustrating to be so close to him, to understand him the way I'd come to, yet still be unable to help him shoulder this burden.

He wandered from room to room, looking all around him without really seeing anything, perhaps seeing instead whatever distant memories the house held. I wasn't part of every remembrance, but I cherished a few of my own…the sitting room where he'd first played for me…my bedroom where he'd watched over me as I slept…his bedroom where he'd taught me to play…we had read poetry here, made love over there, matched wits in one place and butted heads in another. Everywhere I looked, I saw us, and it would be wrenching to let it go.

Yet there was something more than us that lingered in these walls. There were ghosts walking about hidden from my eyes and only too plain to Erik's. He couldn't share with me the long years of loneliness and isolation and the hours he'd passed with Christine. This place had been a shelter for him, but it was also a dungeon. The sooner he left it behind, the better.

I woke late one night to find he was no longer lying next to me. We hadn't slept apart in weeks and I'd grown so accustomed to his presence I knew the exact moment when he'd risen. I looked around his darkened bedroom and saw him sitting on the bench next to the organ, running his hands along the keys. The light in his golden eyes was dimmed and his expression was still and sad.

I got out of bed and sat down beside him, placing my hand over his and allowing him to guide the both of us up and down the keyboard. "Tell me what you're thinking of," I told him quietly.

"I was just thinking of the day I finally brought this down here," he replied. "I found it broken down and in poor condition in the cellars one day. The management had set it aside when they bought a new piano for the company to rehearse along with and forgotten all about it. It took some effort and careful planning, but I got it into the catacombs and across the lake and brought it here. I spent a few weeks repairing it and when it was finished, I sat here for days on end playing."

He paused for a moment and I said, "There are so many memories down here, aren't there?"

"More than you can imagine," he replied. "More than most people ever forget."

I scooted closer to him on the bench. "Won't it be good to forget for once, rather than remember?"

"I'm not sure," he told me. "If I forget, what will I have left?"

"You'll have me," I said, "and all of our memories. We can make new ones, and you won't mind remembering those."

"But where?" he asked. "Where will we have to remember anything, let alone make something worth remembering?"

"It doesn't really matter where we are, we'll always make something to remember," I replied. "You ought to know that yourself."

"I ought to, but I'm not young enough to know everything," he joked, then he turned serious again. "Vivienne, it will never be easy for us out there. There will always be hatred and fear. Do you…do you think you're strong enough to face that reality?"

I looked him straight in the eye and told him, "Erik, I'm young enough and arrogant enough to know that nothing anyone on earth could say or do would ever make me love you any less and nothing in the world would ever make me walk away from you."

He smiled the smallest bit and asked, "What about when you're older and not so clever?"

"By then I'll be too set in my ways to change and I still won't give a damn what anyone else thinks," I answered.

I could tell he'd disguised his sigh as a small laugh, but I let it pass. "If only I had some of your arrogance!" he said.

"Surely you jest," I replied. "Where do you think I got mine? You've been a terrible influence, monsieur."

"I always knew I'd have a bad effect on you." He sounded so gloomy and depressed! What could I say next to lift his spirits?

I said nothing. Instead, I stood up and reached for my violin, sitting beside him next to the organ. I positioned it on my shoulder and began to play the harmony I'd written to his song for me. He'd always been the one to comfort me with his music when I needed it; what better way to soothe him now than this? He turned to watch me and I held his gaze, letting him see the love and hope I felt deep inside me, laced so deeply in the music and born in my own heart. I sat back down on the bench and he wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me without disturbing my playing. I felt him relax in spite of his worries and couldn't help but smile to myself. If he would only draw on that strength I knew he possessed in his soul, he would see that we would be all right. We would live and prosper.

I came to the end of the piece and lowered the violin again. He drew me to his chest and kissed the top of my head. "Thank you, _mon petite_," he said.

"For what?" I asked. "I've done no more than anything you've done for me."

"Which is more than anyone else ever did," he told me. "I'm sorry I'm such a killjoy lately, but…it's going to hurt when the time comes."

"It won't hurt like before," I assured him. "You won't be alone with the pain."

"No," he conceded. "You'll suffer along with me."

"I don't care. If I could, I'd take all of your pain as my own so you wouldn't have to bear it ever again."

"Then you would be the sweetest, most foolish little woman who ever lived," he replied, "and I could never let you do a thing like that." He smiled and added, "But thank you for offering."

I cuddled closer and breathed in his scent. "Can we go back to bed, now?" I asked.

"I suppose so," he answered. "Do you feel like sleeping?"

"Not really…"

His smile grew and he lifted me in his arms, taking us to the bed. We took our time with each other, glad to forget about the rest of the world if only for a moment and creating one more memory neither of us would mind remembering. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

Being "employed" as the Opera Ghost over the years had been quite a lucrative business. I had money, and lots of it. Finding an abode for us would be no trouble at all, but that wasn't what worried me. The question that hounded me was "where?" It was necessary to strike a balance between the quiet of the country and the convenience of the city…and I wasn't accustomed to depending too much on others to see to my comfort and survival, so I would have to make allowances for that…and after living next to the lake for so long it would be impossible to give up a waterfront entirely, so that would factor into my choice…the house would have to be big enough to give us the space we would no doubt need from each other but not so big as to feel oppressive…and I would settle only for the best for us, so no ordinary roadside shack for me and my phoenix…

There was just so much to think of! And all the while, the Garnier above us was buzzing like a hornet's nest again. If those workers spread their story—and I had no doubt they'd done just that—then the new staff would already have food for gossip and surmise. I lived in the constant suspense that sooner or later, someone would come snooping around to my front door.

With every reason to leave and barely a handful to stay, it was no surprise to me that I should fall back into my taciturn, surly moods. I would go out in the predawn and twilight hours in search of a suitable house, but there was something wrong with every option I explored. I knew we couldn't afford to be choosy but—oh, who was I fooling? I was the one being choosy and fastidious and obstinate when I knew damn good and well it was in our best interests to move out of the cellars as fast as possible. My hermetical habits were enough to make me uncomfortable even walking an empty street in the early hours of the morning; to actually live up there, to be surrounded by humanity, even to have neighbors, God forbid, was daunting…no, make that petrifying.

In short, I was downright scared.

I took to spending long hours at the organ, giving vent to my feelings by playing music that would send the bravest of men running for cover. It just went to show that it takes a certain sort of woman to put the best man to shame, for Vivienne never fled or cowered, despite the increased violence of my mood. She merely sat listening, playing a little herself whenever I came to a stop. She was patient and calm when I was frustrated and nervous, and after a time I felt myself calming as well.

If I had any doubts that there was a limit to her patience, they were soon dispelled.

I returned one morning after prowling the city fruitlessly for hours in the snow. I went to the sitting room, found her on the couch reading a book, gave her a swift kiss, then hurtled off once again. I sat down in front of the organ and set my hands to the keys, but before I could strike a single chord Vivienne was at my side, shooting daggers with her eyes. Her voice was deceptively steady as she asked, "How was it out there?"

"Cold," I replied, "and dismal. I'd forgotten how I'd always hated winter."

"But did you find a house?"

"No, I didn't. There are so many places in this city that are almost perfect, but not one of them is what we're looking for."

"And what exactly are we looking for?"

I didn't answer, choosing instead to shuffle around the music strewn across the organ and to strike a few chords in preparation to play.

"Erik," she said, "how long do you intend to drag your feet before you actually get us out of here?"

"I'm not dawdling, if that's what you mean to imply," I told her without looking at her. "but I'm not going to move us into the first hovel I happen across, either."

"You've been going out for weeks now!" she argued. "I don't believe you haven't found a place that suits you."

"What do you mean? I'm looking for a place that suits us, not just me."

"Clearly. If you were interested in pleasing only yourself, you would never leave here no matter how dangerous it was."

Something in her tone caught me more than her words. There was a challenge there; I got the feeling she'd thrown some sort of gauntlet at my feet. "Speak plainly, Vivienne," I said. "I want to know where this sudden venom comes from."

"Sudden?" she asked. "I've been living with a ghost, Erik. You barely say a word to me, you hardly touch me anymore, and you give more of your time to this stupid organ than ever!"

"I thought you understood by now that music will always be the third wheel among us," I told her.

"It's not the music," she replied. "It's what's behind it. Erik, you realize that any day now, someone could come wandering into the cellars and find this place? We need to leave, and all you can do is sit and brood about it. At least tell me why you're so unconcerned."

"I'm not unconcerned," I corrected. "We do need to leave, and that little detail is in my mind every minute of the day. I need to leave what has been the only place on earth that's ever been any kind of refuge. I need to go out once again into the world."

She laid her hand on my shoulder, astonishingly gentle considering how riled she'd been moments ago. "I know it's hard, Erik," she said. "I understand—"

"No, you don't understand," I interrupted. "Until you've been damned with a curse like this," I gestured to my face, "then you'll never understand, Vivienne, no matter how much you pity me."

"I don't pity you," she told me. "I've learned how little need you have for a thing like pity. What you do need is some common sense. You said yourself that with people returning to the Opera it won't be safe for us here anymore, and still you linger! Whatever danger you foresee out there can't be worse than what we'd face if anyone found us!"

"And that's where you're mistaken," I said. "Your brief captivity here was nothing—_nothing, _like what I've endured out there. You can't imagine…I wouldn't want you to imagine…they would rout me out like a diseased animal and you'd be met with the same for standing beside me. You'll have to bear my cross along with me."

"How many times do I have to tell you?" she demanded. "I'm willing to crawl through the seven circles of Hell if it means I can be with you on the other side! I don't care about anything else! You're just using me as your excuse again because you're too afraid to do what you have to!"

I pressed my hands down on the keys and a loud blast issued from the instrument. Turning to face her, I said, "If I'm afraid, my dear, then I have good reason to be. I have to concern myself not only with my own welfare, but with yours. I'm only too aware of what awaits me aboveground, but I have no idea what anyone will make of you when they see you on my arm. I'm more afraid for you than for myself. You haven't had to face the hatred of the world. I'll do what I have to do, Vivienne, and what I have to do is keep you safe. I won't let them steal you from me."

"But we're not safe here!" she persisted. "Would you face a mob again? You might not be so lucky in escaping this time, and this time I'd be down here with you!"

"And if you think for a second that I would ever let anything happen to you—"

"For God's sake, Erik, you're just a man!" she cried. "You can't hold back the world, and you can't take it on either! You've been playing an invincible phantom for so long you actually believe you are one! Stop this game of yours and just face yourself for once in your life!"

"What are you on about now?" I asked, half ready to spring from the bench as my own temper rose. "Speak!"

"The truth, Erik, is that you've been wounded and cut down time and again," she said, "and it's left you so desperate to turn the tables on everyone that you can't bring yourself to let go when you should! You're so terrified of letting someone else get the upper hand you crush everything in your path! What will you do when you can't just manipulate and threaten it away? You're too afraid not to fight!"

"You mean I refuse to just lie down and let them stomp me into the dirt again?"

"No! I mean you've got a tiger by the tail here, and one of these days it will turn on you and rip you apart! If I've learned anything from living with you, it's when to hold your ground and when to give it up!"

"So you think I should just hand over everything I've fought for when the first shots are fired?"

"No! I think you should learn when to shoot back, and when not to!"

"Well, what would you have me do, Vivienne?" I shouted. "Tell me, because I'm lost and can't find north anymore!"

She paused and took several deep breaths, and I took the opportunity to rail further on. "What do you want from me? I'd do anything to please you, but I don't think you know what you're asking of me! It was so hard to surrender all I am to you, and now you tell me I have to do it all over again to a world that already rejected me. I swore I'd never go back out there! Down here, I was numb to life and all it meant to be alive, but at least I didn't hurt so much! Give me one good reason why I should let all that pain in again! Tell me what you want!"

She closed the distance between us and put her hands on my face. "I want you to be what you are, Erik, nothing else. Not a victim, not a ghost, and not afraid. I want you to live your life, not run from it. I know what you could be, if you were only brave enough to try. Just learn to see yourself some other way, I beg you! See yourself as I see you, until you can finally let the past go." She stood on her toes and pressed her lips to mine, adding briefly, "Please, Erik, for me."

I didn't know what to say to her. It sounded like so much, but was it really so simple? Either way, I wanted to try for her sake…

She left me in peace and I began to search myself for the courage to prove myself to her. There had to be something I could do to show her that I could be as brave as she was, that I was as worthy as she already believed me. Deep down I was still half-convinced of my own worthlessness, so it was more than just a fight for her. I needed to do this for myself as well.

But what could I do? I had to strip myself down to nothing and build myself back up again with the fragments that remained. I would have to be utterly defenseless in this before I could know my strength. I would need to find a place of total surrender to reach total freedom…

My eyes fell on that piece of music, her music as I'd taken to calling it. I'd bared my soul in its composition and set it before her eyes when I'd played it for her. It had been cleansing in its essence and I'd breathed my life into it, opening the cage I'd locked myself in for so long…

An idea began to grow, an insane idea, a wonderful idea. I'd hidden for so long, but I couldn't stay in the shadows anymore. She wanted me to be a knight in shining armor and slay the dragons of my existence, and I would ride into battle with colors flying.

**Bear with me while I rally the troops and get back to work!**


	32. Chapter 32

**I started getting anxious when I realized how few chapters were left and put off working on an update for a while...call it empty nest syndrome if you want. :)**

**Anyway, I buckled down, and here it is!**

_Vivienne_

One of those strange changes came over Erik very soon, when he seemed hell-bent on achieving some result and devoted all his energy into the pursuit of it. His single-mindedness was such that he would often sit staring into space for hours on end, not moving and not saying a word, though I could tell by the look in his eye that he was thinking very seriously about something. I didn't try to goad him into action this time. This didn't feel like a fit of sullen spirits; something in his manner made it plain that he was only gathering his strength for a final charge. He remained thoughtful and pensive for several days, and then it was like someone had thrown a switch. He was bursting with energy and making even more trips outside, staying out longer than ever. I tried to question him when he returned, but he deflected my curiosity with a smile and said, "You'll see."

I was burning to know what he was planning, but all I could do was wait. I'd learned long ago that he would come to me when he was ready if I were only patient enough.

He brought back news from the Opera every day, telling me they'd begun to hire new staff and rehire some old hands. He took a special interest when he found the managers were planning a gala performance to celebrate the reopening in several weeks. "Imagine, Vivienne," he said as we sat together on the sofa before the fire one night, "all the best musicians in France gathered above our heads and sharing their music with the world. Wouldn't it be something amazing to be a part of that?"

"If you have your heart set on it, you could always leave one of your manuscripts in the managers' office," I replied, joking with him.

"No, that would never do," he told me, taking the bait. "I'd be too tempted to leave a note along with it and the game would be up."

"You can't pretend you haven't fantasized about hearing the orchestra perform your work," I said.

He shook his head. "If the Garnier orchestra were to perform my work," he said, "they would murder it in its sleep and feed the remains to the dogs. I wouldn't trust them with it. I'd have to play it myself."

"An entire orchestra, by yourself and all at once?" I laughed. "What I would give to see that!"

He smiled playfully. "Don't laugh, mademoiselle. I'm the elusive Opera Ghost, after all. I could manage it."

"With a host of specters at your beck and call," I agreed. "Who knows? Impossible things happen."

He kissed me on the cheek and replied, "I'm looking at one right now."

I stretched out on the sofa and rested my head in his lap. He stroked my hair and hummed absently to himself, lulling me to sleep. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I spent nearly two months hard at work, making sure every detail was laid out perfectly. I held to my resolution and didn't say a word about any of it to Vivienne until everything was in order, praying we didn't have any visitors from aboveground the whole while. I didn't want my plan spoiled.

Finally, three days before the gala, I woke her in the morning with a thrill of excitement. "Get dressed, little phoenix," I instructed. "You and I are going out today."

She sat up in bed, brushing the sleep from her eyes and trying to smooth her tousled hair. "Out?" she said. "Out where?"

"If I tell you, it's not a surprise," I reminded her.

She smiled. "Am I about to learn what you've been up to these past few weeks?"

"Not unless you get out of bed and get dressed."

She rose and set about getting ready while I slipped out of the house to engage a carriage. It was early enough that there weren't so many people about, and the driver stared curiously at my mask but didn't comment—I'd paid him double the usual charge up front with the promise of more to come.

I returned to the house to fetch Vivienne and found her waiting. She had twisted her hair into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck and grinned as she lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal stockings and shoes. "I decided if this was such a special occasion then I might as well dress for it," she said. "What do you think?" She turned on the spot, letting me admire her.

I swallowed hard, reminding myself that I needed to follow my plan and that stripping her naked and taking her back to bed with me was _not _part of the plan. "I think…you look like a lady," I told her, adding slyly, "for once."

She rolled her eyes and took my arm. "Where are we going?"

"At the moment, outside," I replied, leading her to the lake. "I know you don't favor the boat, but it'll be much faster."

She sighed and let me help her into it. I jumped in after her and started rowing. "So after we get outside," she persisted, "where are we going from there?"

"We're going for a drive," I answered. "I've already got a carriage waiting for us."

"But where are we driving to?"

"Who says we're not just driving around the city?"

"I find that a bit hard to believe," she told me. "You've got something in mind, I know it."

I grinned and refused to answer any more questions. We reached the bank and disembarked, and I led her out into the street—the first time she'd set foot out of the Opera in over a year. She blinked and shielded her eyes from even the weak morning sun, looking around her as though she'd expected the city to have changed so much since we went to inquire after that uncle of hers. She looked as one waking after a deep sleep and I wondered what she thought of the world after being absent from it for so long. Did it still have its charms? Had it lost them all after her assault? Had they simply faded away after spending so much time in my presence? I hoped my company hadn't done so much to alter her perception; I didn't want my reclusiveness and misanthropy to brush off onto her.

She looked up at me and asked, "So where is this carriage?"

"Right this way, mademoiselle," I told her, leading her up the street to where the driver sat waiting. He cast an appreciative look at Vivienne as I assisted her into the carriage, but I sent him a warning glare and he turned away. I climbed in after her, closed the door, and we set off.

"Won't you tell me where we're going?" she asked, leaning against me and giving me a pitiful look.

"No, I won't," I replied. "You'll see when we get there."

She let out a testy huff, then extended her leg and hitched up her skirt to examine her shod and stockinged foot. "I've gotten out of the habit of wearing these," she said thoughtfully. "It's strange, but I didn't mind leaving them off until I put them back on. To think I spent so much time prancing about so scandalously dressed! And in front of you! Like a cheap harlot!"

I laughed, drew her closer, and replied, "It's adorable you're so worried about going barelegged considering all the other states of undress I've had you in, my dear."

"You're not supposed to encourage my wanton behavior," she chastised. "You're supposed to give me a tongue-lashing for being so improper and threaten to lock me in a convent."

"I can still give you that tongue-lashing," I offered, brushing the skin at her throat with my fingers.

She shivered her delight but answered, "Not here! Not with the driver right outside!"

"Why should we care? He's nothing to us."

"He might hear!"

I grinned. "On the contrary," I corrected, "he'd be sure to hear, because in the heat of the moment you can't keep quiet to save your life."

She gave a gasp of indignation and slapped me on the arm.

Our journey took us through Paris and several miles beyond. The dwellings were fewer here, the properties larger. I glanced out the window periodically to check our progress, until about an hour and a half after we left the Opera House we neared our destination. I turned to Vivienne and drew a silk scarf from an inner pocket. "We're almost there," I said.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"It's part of the surprise," I replied. "Do you mind?"

She pretended to think about it for a moment, then said, "I suppose not. But don't you try anything when I'm not looking."

I smiled and covered her eyes, tying the scarf securely. "Can you see?"

"No."

I couldn't resist lowering my hands and wrapping my arms around her to cup her breasts. Sure enough—

"What did I tell you, monsieur?"

I laughed. "Relax, mademoiselle, your virtue is in no danger. We're here." I added under my breath, "Of course, it's a bit late to be worrying about your virtue—"

"I heard that," she informed me.

I kissed her on the cheek, got out of the carriage, and helped her down. She had complete faith in me as I led her up a long gravel drive, never saying a word and smiling with anticipation. I felt my own excitement rise again as we drew closer and closer…

I halted and asked, "Are you ready?"

She nodded, her smile widening.

I couldn't help beaming myself as I untied the blindfold and told her, "You can look now."

The expression of amazement and joy on her face was everything I'd wanted. She looked around us, wide-eyed and speechless at our house. It was a two-story structure, spacious but snug and surrounded by a wooded park. The veranda wrapped around three-quarters of the house and there was an adjacent stable for a few horses and a coach. It had been empty for several years, but I'd seen that the necessary repairs and improvements had been made until it surpassed even my expectations.

Vivienne looked up at me, her green eyes sparkling. "Erik," she said breathlessly, "is this ours?"

"Every inch," I replied. "There's a garden in the back and a stream that runs through the park, there's enough room for you to run wild, and our only neighbors are an old married couple a mile off. What do you think?"

"I—don't know what to say," she told me. "I want to see inside!" In her eagerness she ran for the front steps and I followed close behind her. When she reached the front door, she rested her hand against the wood reverentially. "Is it really ours?" she asked.

I nodded and unlocked the door. She pushed it open and made to step inside, but I stopped her. "Wait a moment," I said, and I scooped her up in my arms and carried her over the threshold. She giggled and cuddled against me, and I was almost reluctant to set her back on her feet in the foyer. "There we are," I remarked lightly. "That feels like a good omen."

Her smile never wavered as she took it all in. I had furnished the entire house, the drawing room, the library, the kitchen, the dining room, the spare rooms, the master bedroom, finally leading her to the one I'd saved for last. "There's only one room left," I told her, preparing to turn the doorknob. "Do you want to guess what it is?"

"I'd prefer to see it for myself," she said.

"Just take a guess," I urged.

She again pretended to ponder the question and replied as if it had only just occurred to her. "Is it a music room?"

I heaved a sigh as I threw open the door. "You know me too well."

The room had been intended for a conservatory, with large windows and plenty of space, but I'd been unable to leave it as such. Instead, I had replaced the benches and planters with shelves and several glass-fronted cases, stowing sheet music and instruments I had every intention of learning to play with her. Harps, flutes, a pair of cellos, and even a rather exotic-looking guitar…but none of them held a candle to the brand-new grand piano in the middle of the room. I had searched everywhere for such a marvel as this, and it had been one of the last things to be delivered.

She made her way to it and stroked the keys with an adoration that struck me to the core. "What, no organ?" she asked.

"I tried, but it wouldn't fit anywhere in the house," I answered.

"Well, you don't have to brag about it," she teased.

I burst out laughing and went to her, laying my hand over hers. "Will this do instead?"

"I think it might," she told me. "Are you sure you know how to play it?"

"There can't be much difference," I said. "All the notes are the same, even if they sound a little unusual." To prove it, I began to play a short piece, using her hands in mine to strike the keys and moving along effortlessly until I dropped a note, slightly thrown by the variation in sound.

She chuckled in satisfaction and I said, "All right, so it might take some getting used to, but just you wait until I do."

"You'll have to teach me," she replied, turning so we were face to face and beaming at me.

I returned the expression then asked, "Is this what you wanted? Are you happy with this?"

She laid her hand on the top of the piano and slowly walked around it, caressing the wood beneath her fingers. "Of course I'm happy," she said. "How could I not be? Erik, this is so much more than I ever dreamed of!"

I sighed with relief and followed her, leaning against the instrument with her and informing her, "You'll have to wait before we get settled in. The gala is in three days, and that seems like a fitting time to leave on our honeymoon—"

"Wait, honeymoon?" she interrupted. "Are we getting married?"

"Well, I thought you might like to," I replied offhandedly. "We can keep living in sin if you prefer, but—"

"Don't I even get a proposal?"

"Do you plan on saying no?"

"I'd at least like the chance to," she declared, "even if I wouldn't take it."

I laughed again and asked, "Vivienne, dear little phoenix and my only love, will you marry me?"

She grinned slyly and said, "Well…I might need some time to think it over…"

"Vivienne!"

"Of course I will, you fool!" she burst out, throwing her arms around my neck. I lifted her off her feet and spun her around the room, then set her down again, tossed my mask aside, and kissed her ferociously. She leaned into me for a moment, then drew back and said, "I know we're not moving into the house yet, but we can still christen it now, right?"

"Oh God, Vivienne," I replied, "I thought you'd never ask!" 

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

He kissed me again, pressing me back into the piano. I took his face in my hands, pulling him closer and drawing his body flush to mine. He put his hands on my waist and picked me up again, setting me on the edge of the instrument and stroking my side as I tore at his collar to kiss his throat. "Imagine it," I told him. "You found us a home of our own, where no one will bother us. Can't you just imagine?"

"Tell me," he said, pulling away and kneeling, raising my skirt and drawing off my stockings. He smiled admiringly as my bare legs came into view. "You'll have to wear these more often," he told me, "so I can have the pleasure of taking them off of you."

I grinned and reached out to caress his cheek and he leaned into my hand, sighing as he said, "And soon I can call you my wife…I never thought I'd ever be able to do that…"

"You'll do much more than that," I replied as he stood again. "You'll love me in ways no other husband ever could."

He gave a devious chuckle and buried his fingers in my hair; carefully arranged pins clattered onto the piano as they fell loose and my unruly mane tumbled free. "It's going to be like this forever," I said confidently. "Like a dream, only better because it's real."

He took his hands from my hair and moved down to stroke my thighs before removing any remaining layers between us and positioning himself between my legs. I wrapped myself around him, locking my ankles so he couldn't get away from me. "Tell me," he said, and in a single swift motion, we were one.

I closed my eyes as we began to rock, gently at first but gaining speed. "We'll wake up every morning to birds singing outside our window—"

"And I'll wake before you to watch you while you sleep," he replied, leaning down and kissing my neck. "Then breakfast in the kitchen—"

"I'll burn the toast, but you'll pretend not to care." I broke off with a gasp of delight at my rising ecstasy, but went on, "After breakfast, we'll take a walk through the trees, drinking in the sunshine—"

"The light and the wind in your hair will be enough to intoxicate me," he vowed, tightening his hold on me and moving deeper. "When the sun goes down, we'll sneak off into our bedroom—"

"And spend the night in each other's arms," I finished. My powers of speech slipped away from me and the words caught in my throat. I couldn't get any higher…

"Go on, my phoenix," he murmured, and I knew he didn't mean talking. "Fly for me."

I was wrapped so closely around him I couldn't tell my body from his, but I somehow got even closer as the passion broke over me, so complete and so fulfilling yet always making me want more. God, I loved him so much…and I told him so as I called out my joy. He followed me over the edge and made similar declarations, letting me go and resting his hands on either side of me atop the piano, breathless and shaking.

I still held onto him, running my fingers through his hair and pressing a languid kiss to his lips. "How are you still standing?" I asked.

"Am I?" he inquired. "I feel like I'm falling."

"Then keep falling. I'll catch you at the bottom."

He sighed and leaned his head on my shoulder. "I love you, Vivienne."

"I love you too, Erik."

We stayed there for a while, just like that, waiting for our future to begin and satisfied that it already had.

**The way I figure it, there's just one chapter and an epilogue to go...so I'll see you then. Toodles!**


	33. Chapter 33

**We come to it at last, my dears. Thank you SO much to everyone who has read this! Your feedback and enthusiasm have been more appreciated than you'll ever know!**

_Erik_

Everything had gone better than I'd dared hope, but there were still some things left to be done. We returned to the catacombs and spent our last few days there preparing to leave. There wasn't much we needed to take with us since the house was ready, but we packed up books and clothes and other things we couldn't leave behind such as my music and our violins.

I could see in her eyes how happy she was and I can't even begin to describe how it made me feel. In the past I would have mistrusted even my own happiness, terrified it would be snatched away again if I so much as blinked. I still didn't want to blink, but only in fear of missing a single moment of this…this…

_Reality. _Where once I'd had only dreams and fantasies, now it was all come true at last. Every laugh, every whisper, every touch was ours for eternity.

And there remained just one thing to do…for me and for her… 

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

Our last day at the Opera House was spent in moving the last of our things from the catacombs. The house on the lake was by no means left bare, but just knowing that we would soon be leaving it forever made it feel empty already.

I stood in my old bedroom, reliving the memories it held. My first night as Erik's captive, the vigils he kept at my bedside to ward off my nightmares, the very first time he kissed me was burned into my mind and it almost felt as though in leaving the Opera House, we were leaving our entire history.

He followed me into the room and stood behind me, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close to him. "What are you thinking of," he asked, "to make you look so downtrodden?"

I sighed heavily and said, "I know we're doing the right thing in leaving, but…our whole life together is here, Erik. Doesn't it seem as if we're letting it all go?"

"Hardly," he told me. "You taught me the past belongs to the past, remember? We can't hold onto what isn't ours to begin with, and it's foolish to try."

"I know. It's just that this is the first place I've ever felt was home."

He reached up to stroke my hair soothingly and asked, "What about with your family?"

"I never really got a chance to know my parents," I answered, "and my aunt and uncle treated me like their own, but I've only just come to realize how fragile we always were. Even before the fire, Uncle was often drinking; I suppose he just hid it better back then. I didn't really fit in with anyone in the ballet, and after the fire everything fell apart so fast I was too bewildered by it all to wonder why it happened so easily. There wasn't that much holding us together after all." I closed my eyes, cherishing everything about his embrace, then continued, "At first I wanted to blame you for it all, but—if it hadn't been for that life shattering to pieces, then I wouldn't have this one here with you. I feel like everything I've been through has only been a step along the road to being here, like this is where I was always meant to be."

A sudden sting in my eyes held the threat of coming tears, though I had no idea why I was crying. I turned in the circle of his arms and pressed my face into his chest, hearing his heart beating in my ear. It was such a commonplace sound, such an ordinary rhythm, and yet it echoed through me as though I were a part of it. That rhythm was mine and that heart belonged to me, beating for me alone. I was as certain of that as I was that mine belonged to him. We had exchanged them, after all. It really was my very own heart beating inside his chest, and that's why it felt so familiar.

Almost as if he'd heard what I'd been thinking, he said, "Listen to that, my phoenix. Listen to my heart, and feel your own inside you. We'll always have that sound and that feeling to remind us, we can always keep a part of each other there forever no matter where we are. It might have been slow in arriving, but there's such love alive inside us as some people never find. I'm not worried about what used to be anymore because I'm more than ready to begin a life that's all our own. Are you ready to begin it with me?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes, Erik," I replied. "I'm ready."

"No more tears now, Vivienne," he told me. "No pain, no sadness, and no fear. Do you promise?"

"I promise."

He kissed me on the forehead and said, "I promise, too." He looked around the room and added, "That's everything, isn't it?"

"Except for our violins," I told him, gesturing into the hallway where he'd left the cases. "Why didn't you send them to the house with the rest of our things?"

"I'd planned on a long honeymoon," he replied, "and if you thought I would go without any music, then you don't know me so well after all." He smiled and led me from the room. "Come on, now. I think we can go upstairs to watch a bit of the gala before we have to leave." He picked up the instruments and I looked around us one last time before following him out to the lake. 

* * *

><p><em>Erik<em>

I didn't stop to consider that I would soon be leaving the only place that had ever been a home. I was anticipating the gala, for one thing, and didn't have a thought to spare for much beyond what the night held in store. For another, I had finally made my peace with abandoning my place at the Opera. There had been too many years of loneliness and pain here, and the memory of it would forever taint this place. I was ready at last to close the book on it and move on to another story, one that was sure to have a happy ending.

I led us up through the cellars and it wasn't long before we could hear the shuffle of many feet, the murmur of hundreds of voices, and the strains of the orchestra as they tuned up. I cast frequent glances back to Vivienne, remembering how nervous she'd been on our last journey through the theater. She showed none of that now, too preoccupied to be afraid. The glow that still hadn't left her eyes in days was dazzling to behold, and I kept looking back at her just to see it.

Backstage was a hive of activity as the company made their pre-performance preparations, but I knew where all the secret vantage points were. We crept up to a shadowed catwalk just behind the curtain and recessed far enough into the wings that we wouldn't be seen.

We sat side by side, our legs dangling carelessly off the edge of the catwalk. The violins were at my hand, tuned and ready for the next time they were called upon. Vivienne leaned her head on my shoulder and asked, "How long can we stay?"

"About an hour or so," I answered. "I have tickets for the ten o' clock train, but we have some things to see to before we depart on what's sure to be the lustiest, most passionate honeymoon in history."

"Like what?"

"Like the wedding itself, silly girl. I made arrangements with a priest. He won't ask questions and he won't say a word. He'll just marry us."

"And how much did that cost?"

I gave her an astonished look. "You think I would stoop to bribe a man of the cloth for a secret, legitimate marriage ceremony?"

She raised an eyebrow. I rolled my eyes and said, "Five hundred francs, after haggling, at that."

The view from Box Five, whenever I chose to take advantage of it, wasn't exactly the best in the house. It sat at such an angle to the stage as to give only a sideways look at the goings-on. Our view from the catwalk wasn't much better, but here I had the ability to monitor the movements backstage. I'd kept an eye on the rehearsals for weeks and learned the timing and cues for the performance, and now I was merely waiting for the right opportunity to make my move…

It wasn't a bad turnout for the Garnier's reopening. There wasn't an empty seat to be seen, and the finest Parisian society was in attendance. Richard and Moncharmin had, through some stroke of luck, engaged some rather talented artists in the company and some of the usual suspects possessed of the egos of kings and the vocal prowess of a flock of geese. The ballet was satisfactory, though I knew a surge of pride that I had their best dancer sitting beside me. The orchestra wasn't what I would call perfection, but was nevertheless everything one could expect from the Palais Garnier.

New works were debuted by several noteworthy composers, the singers gave their best arias and ensembles, and the audience applauded them all. I scanned the backstage again between cues and saw the opening I'd been waiting for. I gathered up the violins and said, "I've just remembered where we'll find better seats than these. Come with me."

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To a nook beside the stage." I helped her to her feet and she looked at me as though afraid for my sanity. "It's perfectly safe," I assured her.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" she asked.

"Darling, it's a wonderful idea."

She hesitated, then nodded and I led her back down into the wings, almost onto the stage itself. The hiss of the gas footlights was just audible over the music; it had been decided not to install electricity in the stage lighting, so as to cast a softer light on the performances. They still had to be lit by hand, one after another, a rather tedious and time-consuming chore…

I felt a nervous flutter in my stomach and a rush of excitement through my veins. It was almost time…

The new lead tenor exited the stage and I glanced at Vivienne. She was enraptured by the show and not paying me the slightest bit of attention. I slipped away into the shadows, hearing the delight of the audience echoing around me, and I smiled.

They wanted music, and it was music they would get. 

* * *

><p><em>Vivienne<em>

I clapped along with the rest of the audience as the lead tenor left the stage and waited eagerly for the new soprano and mezzo-soprano to appear for their duet when it happened.

The lights all throughout the auditorium flickered sleepily, then went out entirely. There were startled cries all around me as darkness enveloped us and I let out a gasp of surprise. "What's going on?" I whispered to Erik.

There was no reply.

I peered sightlessly in the dark and reached out my hands in search of him. "Erik?" I asked. "Are you there?"

Except for the babble and scuffle in the theater, there was silence. Erik was gone.

_Where is he? _I found myself thinking desperately. Why had he left? What was he doing? What was wrong with all the lights?

I heard footsteps on the stage, then a voice, the most spellbinding, beautiful, beloved voice in the entire world.

"We wear the mask that grins and lies,

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes—

This debt we pay to human guile;

With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,

And mouth with myriad subtleties."

The theater fell silent. My heart stopped beating for a moment, then it began to race. "Erik…"

"Why should the world be over-wise,

In counting all our tears and sighs?

Nay, let them only see us while

We wear the mask."

Two golden lights, like a pair of suns, gazed at me from center stage. It _was _him, my Erik. His burning glance drew me forward irresistibly, and I stepped towards him from the hiding place in the wings. He repeated the last two measures before he continued.

"Nay, let them only see us while

We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our sighs

To thee from tortured souls arise.

We sing, but oh the clay is vile

Beneath our feet, and long the mile;

But let the world dream otherwise,

We wear the mask!"

I held out my hand and he took it, pulling me closer to him. "But not anymore," he added softly.

"What are you doing?" I asked, dazed and desperate.

"I'm showing you I'm not afraid," he replied.

"This isn't what I meant!"

There were voices backstage as stagehands were instructed to start lighting the foot lamps again. I heard a faint exchange about the wiring in the auditorium; it had shorted out, and no one had any idea how.

I felt his touch on my face, caressing my cheek lovingly. "It's all right, Vivienne," he murmured. "Trust me." He pressed something into my hands—my violin. "Make her sing, little phoenix."

Still dizzy with amazement, I set her on my shoulder and asked, "What shall it be, maestro?"

"Do you even have to ask? Come on, we don't have much time."

There was a slight movement beside me, and the soaring notes of his own violin resonated throughout the auditorium. I recognized the melody, though I had only heard it on the organ before. It was the music he had written for me and now played for the entire theater to hear.

I only hesitated for a moment before I began to play my harmony, the lines flowing through the air and twining together as though they had always been one. I knew without asking just what he wanted from me, and I poured myself into the music, letting the violin sing and my soul begin to fly into the rafters along with it. The melodies were distinct yet inseparable, their own beings yet made perfectly for each other. His eyes never left me as we played for our audience—he was playing for me and no one else.

The auditorium buzzed with stunned whispers. Was this part of the performance? Was this planned, or had the gala been taken over by ghosts? I smiled. The world was finally hearing Erik's music, and he was playing it himself. He had planned this for weeks. Keeping the violins with us was proof of that.

Stagehands appeared bearing candles to relight everything, moving from lamp to lamp and igniting the gas. The darkness was slowly fading, but Erik didn't stop so neither did I. His form began to take shape in the returning light, tall, strong, and immovable. He was fearless as he played, fearless and…unmasked.

My eyes widened as I continued along with him. I knew he hadn't worn his mask out of the catacombs, but—he was onstage before a sold-out audience, playing as though he'd done it thousands of times before, as though it didn't matter in the slightest who saw him. I suddenly understood why he'd chosen that poem, a poem for me and to the rest of the world. He would hide no more, no longer afraid of their censure or their hatred. Let them see what they wanted, because he had finally learned to see past the monster.

The music came to an end and we lowered our instruments, still staring at each other. He didn't say a word as he pulled me to his side and kissed me on the lips for everyone to see. I reached up and stroked his disfigured face adoringly. I wanted to tell him how proud I was of him, how much I truly loved him, but there were no words strong enough.

The stage was properly lit again and the whole house saw us there, still holding our violins and wrapped in each other's arms. At first there was a stunned silence, then a startled drone, then cries of realization and shock.

Erik drew away from me and took my hand. "It's time to go," he said, and he whisked me off the stage and into the wings. We paused briefly to collect our cases and store the instruments safely, then hurried off into the cellars again.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To the lake," he replied. "The gate you first entered by opens on the Rue Scribe, and we'll leave from there. We need to hurry."

"I thought you weren't afraid anymore."

"I'm not," he told me, "thanks to you. We have a meeting with that well-paid priest, and then I plan on stealing my bride off on our honeymoon. How does Vienna sound to you?"

"Vienna!"

We reached the lake and he led me along the shore until we came to the gate he'd mentioned. He held it open for me, but I paused and asked, "Are you sure this is what _you _want, Erik? Think of what you're leaving behind…"

"I have thought about it," he replied, "and believe me, my love, it's nothing compared to what I'm leaving it for."

Oh, God, I loved him so much I almost couldn't stand it, and I prayed with all my heart I could spend the rest of time showing him just how much as we disappeared into the night.

**Now here's the part where you skip ahead to the epilogue...**


	34. Chapter 34

_Erik_

The sound of the wind through the trees outside was the first thing I heard as I awoke, followed by the gentle breathing of my wife as she slept beside me.

My wife…it still felt surreal to think in those terms, much less have the proof lying next to me. Seven months of marriage still wasn't enough to get used to it after a lifetime of certainty that it would never be real.

I opened my eyes and looked at her, drinking in the sight like the waters of life. A beam of sunlight crept into the room from between the curtains and fell upon her face, making her skin glow and her hair glisten. She smiled while she dreamed, the same smile she'd worn every waking moment for the past few weeks, as though she were guarding some precious secret. I couldn't help but smile myself as I recalled that it was a secret no longer. I reached out carefully to stroke her cheek. _My beautiful little phoenix…_

Her hand rested on the pillow beside her head and the ring she wore sparkled in the sunlight. The ruby seemed to burn from within, just like her. No ordinary diamond for my Vivienne! It sat perfectly on her finger as though made for her, the final affirmation of our vows to each other, the symbol of our love, the evidence of all that bound us.

My eyes took in the shape of her body beneath the blankets. She hadn't yet begun to change, but in time her slender form would grow as her condition progressed.

_Condition? _I asked myself. _Just go ahead and say it, man. She's carrying your child._

My wife, wearing my ring, carrying my child…all mine…no one else had a claim on them…my Vivienne…my phoenix…

My prisoner…

The thought came unbidden, sickening me and making my head spin. I rose from the bed and dressed, not even allowing myself another glance at her. I left our bedroom and went downstairs to the veranda, then into the garden for some fresh air.

The warmth of the sun and the caress of the wind felt like a gift from Heaven after all those years underground. I took a deep breath and looked all around me. It was midsummer, and the garden was in full bloom. Neither Vivienne nor I had much experience in gardening, but we'd spent hours together out pruning and planting and caring for our little bit of earth, and it seemed I had never seen something so lovely. I wasn't at all sure I deserved it.

But did I, really? I saw love in her eyes every day, love meant for me alone, but why? I had been living with growing fears ever since she'd told me I would be a father. Could I care for a child? Would I be a good parent? Would the baby—look like me? What if—what if this wasn't meant to be after all?

I had been more desperate than ever for someone, anyone, to love me after Christine. I had taken as my captive the first young woman who'd stumbled into my path and kept her with me for over a year. It had been so hard to believe we'd fallen in love, but—what if it wasn't love after all? What if I had wanted to believe so badly that someone could care for me that I had conjured it all up in my mind somehow? What if she had just become so attached to me, her captor, in some twisted way that she only thought she actually loved me? What if this was all just some horrible mistake? What would happen when the child—_our _child—was born?

I abandoned the garden and returned to the house, going to the piano and beginning to play. It was actually much simpler than the old organ once my ear had adjusted to it, and all the time we'd shared together at it, around it…and on top of it…came back to me. It had to be a fantasy, an illusion, a lie. It couldn't be real. It just couldn't.

"Good morning."

I glanced up to see her standing in the doorway, wrapped in a dressing gown and still smiling. I tried to smile back and kept playing. She entered the room and sat on the bench beside me, watching my hands move along the keyboard. "I'll never tire of seeing those hands at work," she said, "and hearing the magic they summon."

I didn't answer her, giving the music my attention. I needed to voice my fears, but I didn't know exactly how and was terrified to. What could I possibly say to my pregnant wife about what I was thinking?

"Erik, you've been playing the same sequence over and over again for the past five minutes," she told me. "Why are you so distracted?"

"I'm not," I replied.

"You are," she said. "Tell me why. I won't leave you alone until you do."

My hands ceased their movements and I sighed. We sat side by side for several long moments, she staring at me and me staring at the keyboard. "There's nothing you can't say to me," she urged, "and I can see when something is troubling you. Tell me, Erik, please."

"It's not easy, Vivienne," I said.

"You always say that," she replied, "and it's never as horrible as you think."

I paused again, repeatedly striking one of the keys moodily. She reached out and stilled my hand; her touch had the power to send shock waves throughout my body and to make my blood burn. It was so needed, so necessary, the very thing I lived for, and it prompted me to speak at last. "What if this is all wrong?"

She frowned slightly. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"This," I told her, catching her hand in mine. "This life, this love…it all started with my intent to kill you, you recall."

"And as I recall, you didn't," she replied, smiling wryly.

"Please be serious," I begged. "I made you my prisoner, Vivienne. I was alone and going insane and half-frantic for some escape from my hell. I didn't care that you were an innocent woman who'd been hurt already; I just wanted someone to share my pain with me." She looked ready to interrupt, but I pressed on, "You were alone with me and already so vulnerable. You were afraid of me at first, but you turned to me for comfort almost immediately. We were our only companions. What if this—isn't what we think it is…what we want it to be?"

"You mean what if we really don't love each other after all?" she asked.

I sighed and nodded.

"I'll be honest with you, Erik," she said, "I wondered that at first too. But let me tell you something else, and don't you ever doubt this: I don't know how or why this happened the way it did, but there is nothing that would ever change the way I love you. We always needed each other, Erik, right from the first, and through that need we came to love each other. We might have felt Heaven had forgotten us, but I think it was Heaven that brought us together, whatever hell we had to go through first."

She spoke with such steady conviction and I wanted so much to believe her, but trust still didn't come easily to me. As if she knew what I was thinking, she said, "You've trusted me with your heart and soul when they were already so damaged. Now just trust what you feel and what I believe. If nothing else, trust this." She guided my hand to her stomach where our child was growing in her womb. "This isn't a mistake," she told me. "This is love, Erik, and it's real. What greater proof do you need?"

My other fears rose to the surface. "What if I'm not a good father?" I asked. "What if—oh God, Vivienne, what if it's like me? What innocent child should have to bear a curse such as mine? How could I have done this, created a life and risked such a thing?"

"Erik, stop," she soothed, putting her hand to my lips to silence me. "No more fear, you promised me. You have to trust this as well. What you've endured was terrible, but it's made you who you are. You still think you're a monster, but you're so far from it. Who knows? If you had looked any other way than the way you do, we might never have found each other, and then what?"

"But Vivienne—"

"Stop. You're scared, and I understand. I worry that I won't make a good mother, but we'll both learn how to care for this baby together. And even if it has a face like yours, I tell you here and now, our baby will _always _know that we will _always _love it, no matter what it might look like and no matter what the rest of the world does."

I lapsed back into silence and she looked straight into my eyes and said, "I love our child already, Erik, and I'll still love it no matter what. What about you?"

I would have to trust after all, trust that she meant what she said and that my heart wasn't lying to me, that this was real and that no matter what happened or how it came about it wasn't going away. I had to believe as much as she did that we deserved this and that all of our trials and sufferings were just the price of our peace and happiness. Could I do it?

"Do you love me?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"Do you love our child?"

A slight pause, then, "Yes."

"Do you believe in this with everything you've got, in every inch of your soul?"

It was like peace was a fountain flowing into me, filling my mind and spirit, and as she continued to cradle my hand, I found it in myself to trust it at last. "Yes, Vivienne, I do."

She smiled at me and I knew then beyond a doubt that we had been made whole. We were finally free to fly.

**Thanks again, my wonderful readers! I'll be back before you know it! :)**


	35. Chapter 35 - UPDATE!

**Guess what, peeps? No, I'm not updating this story, but I AM going to be reposting it! I rewrote the original draft this summer, and it just looked so much better that I wanted to show it off. I also changed the title a little...thought I'd explain so there's no confusion. Keep your eyes open for the new chapters! A-P**


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